This is late, I know, and I apologize. Please forgive me.
Anyway, thanks for the few reviews and alerts last chapter. I hope to hear from you again, and please enjoy this chapter.
I own nothing
Bye…
Psych
Shawn knew he shouldn't be there, he wasn't stupid and his dad's voice, the same voice he heard every time he came up with a half-assed scheme, kept circling his head. 'This is stupid, Shawn.' 'Don't do this Shawn.' 'Getting arrested won't help Gus, Shawn.' Like always, he ignored the voice and concentrated on the task at hand. Besides, he actually brought gloves this time; he was being responsible and keeping his fingerprints to himself.
Gus will thank me later, he thought as he used his best friend's credit card to open Reggie Taylor's apartment door. Once inside, he slid the card back into his pocket and started scanning the living room/kitchen.
Shawn quickly took in the ripped up couch, knife 'wounds' if he wasn't mistaken; the downed chair and broken TV, too obvious what happened there; and the broken lamp that was sitting on the floor. He crept across the floor, shoes crunching the broken glass from the television as he moved across it. He stopped next to the window, glancing down at the street, and froze when he realized there was something smudged across the torn curtain. He crouched down to get a closer look, realizing it was blood.
If Reggie was killed in her bedroom, why is there blood on the curtain, Shawn thought quizzically pushing himself to his feet. He turned around and froze when he spotted another red stain on the carpet. He crossed the room, kneeling down to get a closer look. It was obvious, like the curtain, that someone tried to clean it up, but had missed a spot.
"Definite cover up," Shawn muttered filing the two smudges in the back of his brain for later. He stood again, heading toward the bedroom. His gloved hand pushed the door open as he mentally prepared himself for the sight.
There was blood all over Reggie's bed, enough to be Reggie's resting place, but possibly not where she was originally attacked. He had seen several crime scenes in his thirty-plus years, he knew what he was talking about... or thinking about? Yeah, 'thinking about' sounded better. He stepped further into the room, scanning the area for more clues.
If he hadn't been looking for it, he would have definitely missed it. It was sitting under the bed, crammed in the corner where it could be easily missed. Carefully he knelt on the ground, placing his right palm barely six inches from the blood. He used his right hand to grope under the bed, snatching the thing off the floor. He had just pocketed the thing when he heard the door open.
Crap, he thought glancing around for a hiding spot. He spotted Reggie's closet and quickly crept toward it, slipping inside. He left the door slightly ajar, waiting for whoever decided to pay Reggie's apartment a visit to appear. It didn't take long, a shadow briefly stopping in her bedroom doorway. The shadow crossed the threshold after a second, taking the shape of Steinberg.
It didn't take a genius to figure out what the detective was doing there. He was trying to find anything that would tie Gus to Reggie's murder. Shawn knew the guy didn't have a single shred of evidence convicting Gus, everything was circumstantial. And the thing in his pocket wasn't going to help or hurt Gus, not yet at least. Shawn had to do some more investigating to actually figure out. And he couldn't do that until Steinberg left.
He watched as the detective started searching the room, his gloved hand ghosting over everything looking for something he wasn't going to find. Once his search turned nothing helpful up, he turned to leave, but froze when his eyes caught sight of the closet. Shawn was sure his heart stopped. He willed the detective to ignore the closet, but that was about as helpful as asking Juliet's cats for advice, and Steinberg started to cross the room to check the closet.
Shawn was sure he was busted, Henry's phantom voice didn't sound so ridiculous now, and was already trying to come up with a cover story when lady luck paid him a visit: Steinberg's phone went off. The detective stopped, pulling the phone from his pocket, rolled his eyes, and headed out of the room.
"Steinberg," he answered as he disappeared down the hall. Shawn breathed a sigh of relief as he ducked out of the closet. He waited by the window, watching as Steinberg emerged from the building several moments later and headed towards his car. Shawn waited until the detective was gone before heading out of the apartment.
Once on the elevator, the doors closed and alone, he took out the item from Reggie's room. It was a room key for some motel on the outskirts of Santa Barbara. Shawn had driven past it a couple times, mostly when he was leaving for one of his road trips. It was the closest lead he had, and he was going to take it.
Psych
Lassiter watched as Shawn left Gus's apartment building, the 'psychic' glancing around before getting on his Norton. Carlton knew exactly what Spencer was up to, it wasn't hard to figure out. It was a stupid plan, as were most of Shawn's plans, but Lassiter could kind of, sort of see-if he squinted-where Shawn was coming from.
But Spencer almost got caught, too. Steinberg was already there when Lassiter showed up and some quick dialing kept the homicide detective from detecting a jackass. A jackass whom Lassiter was about to follow. He waited until Spencer had a good three minute head start before pulling back onto the road. It would be annoying if Shawn 'sensed' that Lassiter was following him.
The 'psychic' lead Lassiter out of town, making Carlton believe for just a second that Shawn had seen him. But he couldn't have, there were always three or four cars between them, he was keeping a safe distance, trying to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible. Of course, Spencer knew what Lassiter's car looked like. He had been around the detective for over five years, seen him with both the cherry red Crown Vick and now the royal blue. He could know and was just waiting for Lassiter to give up. No, Spencer didn't know, he was just being paranoid. Or was he…?
Lassiter's tirade was cut short when he noticed Shawn pull into a motel's parking lot. He watched as the 'psychic' got off his bike; wondering why in the hell Spencer decided to stop here. Slowly he drove past, parking his Crown Vick a good block away. He shut down the motor, removed the keys, and pushed open the door. Once the car was locked up, he trekked back to the motel.
His plan was to stealthily spy on Shawn, finding out why he was here and how this inevitably tied in with Gus. It was a good plan, a flawless plan… if Shawn hadn't been waiting for him.
When Carlton turned the corner, to the entrance of the parking lot, he found Spencer leaning against a telephone pole, arms crossed, with a small smirk on his face.
"Where were you? I've been waiting for, like, three and a half minutes. It was exhausting."
"Shut up, Spencer," Lassiter grumbled walking past him. "When did you spot me?"
"About seven seconds after you started following me. I mean, c'mon, twice I could hear you yelling at another car to speed up. Lassie, you are horrible at tailing people."
"I'll have you know…" Lassiter cut off, taking a deep breath. "You know what, never mind. What are you doing here, anyway?"
"Psychic vibrations…" Shawn started pushing away from the telephone pole and following Lassiter.
"Cut the crap, Spencer," Carlton interrupted stopping short and turning to look at the 'psychic'. "I saw you leave Guster's building in a hurry. You obviously found something. And instead of doing the smart thing and handing it over to the SBPD, you decided to look into it yourself. Am I right?"
"Okay, first off. Stop acting like my dad, it's creeping me out," Shawn started as he continued to walk. "Second, I do this all the time. Where have you been?" Carlton had to admit, Shawn was right. He quickly chased after the 'psychic' listening to the rest of his speech. "And third, aren't you the SBPD's Head Detective? If you're willing to help me, it's almost like I'm handing this alleged piece of evidence over to you without actually handing it over.
"Besides, it's Gus. I can't exactly wait for you guys to get a search warrant, not with Steinberg ready to throw him under the bus at any moment."
Lassiter thought about it for a second, recalling how Shawn stopped at nothing to uncover the truth about Chavez's real murderer, getting Carlton off the hook in the process. That was for a work acquaintance, who knew what sort of antics Spencer could get into to help Gus. At least with Carlton watching him, the 'psychic' could avoid jail time. So, the detective sighed and said, "Two minutes. We find anything remotely helpful and we call it in, okay?"
"Can I have two and a half…?"
"Spencer," Lassiter warned throwing him a quick look.
"Fine, two minutes." They walked past the front office, down the first row of rooms. "You know you're very bossy," Spencer said after a few seconds of silence.
"What?" Lassiter asked turning his head to glare at the 'psychic'.
"I said 'you're bossy'. It's like, if we were in a relationship, you'd most definitely be the controlling, jealous type. I'd never be able to talk to anyone."
"Spencer, first off, you aren't my type. Second, if you were we'd never date because I would probably shoot you. And third, my bossy-ness is from years of dealing with jackasses like you."
They fell into an uncomfortable silence, Shawn sometimes glancing at a room number after looking at something in his pocket. After a few seconds the 'psychic' murmured, "I'm not a four-legged farm animal."
Carlton wasn't sure whether to laugh or call Spencer a dumbass, so he opted to just shake his head and keep his mouth shut. He gestured for Shawn to continue his search; hoping conversation would come to a close sometime soon.
After searching a row and a half of rooms, Shawn finally found what he was looking for. A faint smell came from underneath the door of room twenty-three, one Lassiter was sure he smelt but couldn't quite pinpoint. On the knob, the 'Do Not Disturb' sign swung back and forth with a light breeze. Obviously, whatever was behind this door, no one wanted it to be seen.
"Do you smell that?" Spencer murmured pulling a set of blue latex gloves out of his pocket. He pulled on the left one seconds before extracting a key card from his coat pocket.
"Where'd you…?"
"Psychic vibrations," was all the 'psychic' said before sliding the card in the lock. The tiny light glowed green, a faint beep administering, and Shawn opened the door.
The smell was worse with the door open, a rancid stench that assaulted Lassiter's nostrils. After thousands of crime scenes, hundreds of murders, he could now identify the smell.
She was lying on the floor, dried blood surrounding her, her face turned slightly to the right. Blood splattered the walls, the furniture, everywhere. No surface was safe from the red fluid.
"Oh my, gosh," Shawn whispered from behind Lassiter, causing the detective to glance back at him. The 'psychic's' eyes were locked on something just to the right of Lassiter's shoulder. Carlton slowly turned, eyes falling on an innocent enough bulletin board nailed to the far wall. There were pictures thumb tacked to the board, making Lassiter walk closer to get a better look.
Each photo was of a very familiar person, someone Lassiter saw almost every single day. It was like a shrine of Burton Guster. Gus with Shawn, Gus at work, Gus at home: Gus, Gus, Gus, Gus. Whoever this girl was, she had had a very unhealthy with Guster.
Lassiter had his phone out, quickly dialing the SBPD. He couldn't quite wrap his head around what was going on, but it was something definitely fishy. The desk sergeant picked up a few seconds later, Carlton quickly explaining what was going on. About halfway through his explanation he heard a small gasp and Spencer say, "Crap."
"What?" Lassiter asked covering the mouth piece of his cell, glancing over to see the 'psychic' looking down at the victim's face.
"I know her," Shawn started, a troubled look on his face. "She was the missing girl Gus, McNab, and I were looking into. Her name's Gigi Gray…"