"Okay, here are the ground rules," Lassiter started.
"Question," Shawn interrupted. "Do the ground rules still apply if you're on the second floor?"
"We're not on a second floor," Lassiter snapped.
"What's that got to do with anything?" Shawn asked.
Lassiter sighed deeply, resisting the urge to put his head in his hands. He'd been counting pretty much the whole ride here, and he was now at about seven hundred and sixty five. He still wanted to strangle Spencer, and he was starting to regret his former promises of restraint. "These are the rules, and they apply at any altitude," he said slowly. "You stay by me."
Lassiter just knew he was going to regret that first one.
"How close are we talking?" Shawn asked.
"I want you in my line of sight," Lassiter snapped, backing up when Shawn leaned against him. "There's no need for touching."
"But I thought we could hold hands," Shawn suggested. "Then you'll always know where I am."
"We're not holding hands," Lassiter said.
"You said you were going to be nice to me," Shawn protested.
"I said nothing of the sort," Lassiter said. "I said I would never hurt you."
"You're hurting my feelings," Shawn said. "Does that count?"
"No," Lassiter said. "Secondly, we go over there, you identify the body, we leave. No dilly-dallying."
"Did you seriously just say dilly-dallying?" Shawn asked. "Because I don't even know what to say to that."
"Good," Lassiter said, and grabbed Shawn's arm to start pulling him towards Juliet and the others.
"Hey, there's no need for touching," Shawn echoed primly. The others were standing about twenty feet from the side of the road that led back down to the Hottie Tottie, but Shawn was having some trouble pinpointing its exact location during the daytime, without the neon lights to guide him.
Juliet ran over to meet them. "Shawn!" she said, grabbing him into a hug. "I'm so glad you're alright! We were so worried."
"I know, Lassiter's been telling me how happy he is to get me back alive," Shawn said. "He says he never wants me out of his sight again."
"That's not exactly what I said," Lassiter snapped, while Juliet looked at him with a pleased grin.
"Well, I think that's a great idea," she said. "It's obvious you shouldn't be trusted alone. That's two kidnappings in two weeks."
"I'm going for a world record," Shawn said. "If this doesn't pan out, I thought about seeing how many bunnies I could snuggle with in a hammock, but then again, I'm not sure I can stand the thought of one-upping Cameron Diaz."
Juliet smiled bemusedly. "Right, well," she said, carrying on. "We think we have an ID on the body. The driver's license says his name is Mark Lyle. We ran a check on it and it seems legit."
"What do we know about him?" Lassiter asked, stepping forward.
"He's got quite the record," she said. "But it was never anything too big. Just theft mostly, a few assault charges here and there. Nothing close to murder."
"That you know about," Shawn corrected.
"Shawn," Juliet said softly. "You know how this looks."
"If Cyril killed him, it was self-defense," Shawn protested. "Though I really don't know how he could have without any bullets in his gun."
"What do you mean Riner didn't have any bullets in his gun?" Lassiter demanded.
"I didn't tell you that?" Shawn asked. "He took me hostage with an empty gun. It's kind of embarrassing, actually. For you, I mean. I'm just a civilian."
Lassiter glared at him, but Juliet interrupted before he could respond. "Well, someone had bullets," she said. "Lyle was shot three times."
"Let's just go get you to identify him so we can get out of here," Lassiter said, grabbing Shawn by the arm again. Juliet nodded and led the way. Shawn subtly disengaged himself from Lassiter's grip and moved towards the body. It was laid out in the middle of the road. Clavor's—Lyle's, that was—car was parked parallel to the road, looking untouched.
Shawn came to a stop in front of the body, tilting his head as he tracked the bullet holes, three of them, one a few inches from the bellybutton, one in the knee cap, another in his eye. It was one of the more gruesome corpses Shawn has had the displeasure to stumble on, and he hoped for the poor bastard's sake the killer had started high and worked their way down.
"It's definitely him," he said after a moment. "This is Cyril's partner James Clavor."
"So Riner did have a partner after all," Lassiter said. "And he killed him too."
"You haven't been listening to anything I've said to you, have you? This guy tried to kill us, not the other way around. Cyril isn't even armed!" Shawn protested.
"I saw the gun, Spencer," Lassiter snapped.
"Did you see the bullets? Cause there weren't any in it," he said. "I checked. He even had the safety on."
"Spencer, when did you last see Riner?" Lassiter asked calmly.
Shawn pressed his lips together and glanced away.
"Oh, that's right," Lassiter said. "He was chasing after Lyle, isn't that right? What did you think he planned to do when he caught him? Riner's the obvious suspect."
"Or it's someone who's worried we're back investigating this case," Shawn protested.
"Do you have to disagree with every single thing I say?" Lassiter demanded.
"Only for as long as you insist on being wrong," Shawn said.
"Spencer," Lassiter started.
Shawn's phone ringing interrupted him. "Just a minute," he said. "I have to take this. It's a very important work call."
Lassiter frowned, as though he doubted the possibility that Spencer could do anything important. Shawn turned and walked a few feet away before answering the phone. "Burton Guster speaking," Shawn said.
"Shawn!" Gus shouted. "You stole my work phone?"
"Well, you had the day off, I didn't think you'd need it, and Cyril threw mine out the window," Shawn said.
"You know I'm very careful about my minutes, Shawn," Gus snapped.
"Hey, you called me," Shawn protested.
"It's my phone!" Gus shouted, before heaving a sigh. "Alright, okay, I'm not mad."
"Really? Because you kind of sound mad," Shawn said.
"Just tell me where you are," Gus said. "What did Lassiter want to talk to you about?"
"Clavor was found murdered, I had to identify the body," Shawn said. "And we finally got a real name. Mark Lyle."
"Jeez," Gus said. "I guess Cyril caught up with him—"
"No, no way, Cyril didn't kill Lyle. He wouldn't have killed him in anything but self-defense, and he never would have shot him three times. Whoever killed Lyle, it was personal."
"You don't think Cyril takes what Lyle did personally?" Gus asked.
"Well, sure," Shawn said. "But Cyril needed him alive, didn't he? It's going to be harder to prove that Lyle killed that guard now that he's dead too. And what if that's exactly the point?"
"I hate to tell you this, Shawn," Gus said, "but Cyril had the most reason to want this guy dead."
"I know, but he didn't do it. I think I need to talk to Cyril," Shawn said. "I'll call you later, Gus."
"What do you mean you're going to talk to him? Shawn, he's—"
Shawn hung up the call. He glanced back towards Lassiter. He was kneeling beside the body with Juliet, so Shawn stepped backwards a little further, before jogging across the street to the other side of the road.
Shawn closed his eyes to remember the phone number on Cyril's disposable phone. He dialed it from memory, half-expecting Cyril not to answer the call, but it was only a moment before there was a hesitant "Hello?"
"Hey, buddy! How's life on the lam?"
"Shawn?" Cyril demanded.
"Well, who else is going to be calling you? You're a wanted criminal," Shawn said. "Of course it's me. You don't have other hostages on the side, do you? I hope you haven't given this number to just anyone."
"I didn't even give it to you," Cyril said, with the kind of long-suffering exasperation it had taken years to inspire in Lassiter.
"Well, no, but it flashes on the screen when you turn it on," Shawn explained.
"Shawn, I'm kind of in the middle of something," Cyril said. "You know, avoiding the police and all. What's this about?"
"We need to talk," he said simply. "You've been lying to me."
"Even if that were true, you're psychic, shouldn't you have known?" Cyril asked wryly.
"I'm not telepathic," Shawn said indignantly. "I get a read off feelings, and you seemed sincere to me."
"That's because I was," Cyril said. "Almost everything I said to you was true. Which means I've been at least as truthful with you as you have been with me."
"Really?" Shawn asked. "Then why don't you tell me how you escaped?"
"I got lucky, was all," Cyril said.
"That's all? You just ran through the halls and scaled the wall?" Shawn asked.
"Shawn, what is this about?" he asked again.
"I know Fred Greenly helped you get out," Shawn said. "But I guess I should call him Glen Reed-Fry."
"Maybe you are psychic," Cyril said, after a moment. "Have you told anyone?"
"Not yet," Shawn said. "But I plan to, because that's my job, so in case you need to make any arrangements I suggest you do it quick."
"Thanks for the head's up," Cyril said. "But why are you helping me?"
"I already told you that," Shawn said. "I don't think you've murdered anyone, and I don't think Greenly has, either. But I need you to do something for me in return, I need you to tell me what happened last night after you threw me out of the truck."
"I followed Clavor for a little longer, but he lost me. Why?" Cyril asked.
"Because he just turned up dead," Shawn said.
There was a pause. "And you think I did it."
"I don't," Shawn said. "Everyone else does."
"I didn't," Cyril said. "I didn't even get to talk with him. I don't know who would have killed him."
"See, that's where I start to think you're lying to me again," Shawn said. "You've known more about this all along than you've been telling. I can't help you if you don't tell me all the facts."
"Shawn, I don't know who would have killed him, that's the whole truth," Cyril said. "I think it's probably whoever really planned the robbery at the Dah-Ling Store-It-Yourself, but that's all I know."
"Yeah, that's what I thought too," Shawn said.
"Spencer!" Lassiter shouted from the street.
Shawn guiltily ended the call just before Lassiter reached him, with his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I said to stay in sight," Lassiter said.
"You mean you couldn't see me from just over there?" Shawn asked. He leaned past Lassiter and waved at Juliet. Juliet happily waved back. "Jules can see me."
Lassiter gave Shawn a push back to the car. "We're leaving," he said. "Who was on the phone?"
"Cyril," Shawn said.
"Funny," Lassiter snapped, and then paused. "You were kidding, right? You weren't actually talking to Riner?"
"Oh god!" Shawn shouted, throwing himself against the car. He brought a shaking hand to his forehead, and pressed his eyes shut. "Lassie, Lassie! I'm seeing something, oh, it's big. Very big!"
"Spencer, what the hell's wrong with you?" Lassiter demanded. Some of the nearby detectives all turned to watch as Shawn slid down to sit in the dirt road.
He looked up at Lassiter. "I know how he did it," he said. "I know how Cyril escaped! You said his name, and it just came to me, like getting hit with a sledgehammer! You're brilliant, Lassie! Your subconscious figured out the whole thing!"
"It did?" Lassiter asked.
Shawn grabbed Lassiter's sleeve and pulled him to the ground, before framing the detective's face with his hands and re-closing his eyes. "You were right about Glen Reed-Fry," he said.
"I was?" Lassiter said. "I mean, of course I was! I knew he was in on it. It was just too convenient, him being there in the morning, he had to have—"
"But Cyril didn't escape in the morning, of course," Shawn interrupted. "No, you're too clever to have fallen for that. Cyril escaped the night before."
"Guys, are you alright?" Juliet asked hesitantly, as she walked over to join them.
"Shh, Jules, a moment, please," Shawn said. "Lassiter's having a breakthrough here."
"No I'm not. They do bed checks, Spencer, by three different guards, each of them are required to see movement," Lassiter said. "Are you saying they were all in on it?"
"No, only one of them was in on it, and he was the one in that bed," Shawn said. "Cyril left in Fry's uniform, with Fry's jeep, the night before. The next morning, Fry wakes up in the cell, already in his spare uniform, and the moment the cell door opens he starts yelling that Riner's escaped. And that's when everyone starts looking, but by then he's long gone."
Lassiter's eyes widened. "Son of a bitch!" he shouted, surging to his feet. "O'Hara, I want you to send out a black and white to pick up Glen Reed-Fry."
"It's too late," Shawn said, gasping, holding onto the car while he recovered from his draining psychic vision. "He's going to be long gone too."
Lassiter paused again, turning back to Shawn. He kneeled back down in front of him and met his eyes. "But you just figured this out right now, right?" he asked quietly.
"I didn't figure out anything, Lassie," Shawn said. "It was all you."
O'Hara was yelling into her cellphone a few feet away, and she returned a moment later shaking her head. "I put out the APB, but a patrol was nearby, and they said Fry's place was cleaned out already. He's gone."
"Almost like he knew we were coming," Lassiter said softly.
"Hey, maybe he's psychic, too," Shawn suggested.
Lassiter got to his feet again, and this time he dragged Shawn up with him. "Get in the car," he snapped.
Shawn looked at Juliet, but she just shrugged. He sighed and got into the car, while Lassiter turned the key and glared straight ahead. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing," he said. "The others might fall for your theatrics, but don't expect me too."
"It's not my fault you're so intelligent that you solved the escape without even realizing it," Shawn protested.
"You figured it out, Spencer," Lassiter snapped. "You walked into that room and glanced at that evidence I've been staring at for a week and you figured it out in five minutes."
"That isn't how it works," Shawn protested.
"Spare me your explanations," Lassiter said. "I know you're not going to tell me how you really do it. I just really hope that you weren't telling me the truth for once when you said it was Riner on that phone. If I have your phone records checked, what am I going to find?"
"Well, it's Gus's phone," Shawn said. "So probably lots of calls to Miss Cleo."
"Stop lying to me," Lassiter snapped.
"Okay, you caught me, Gus doesn't really call Miss Cleo," Shawn said. "At least not on the work phone."
"I don't know why you couldn't just stay out of this," Lassiter said. "You always make everything so damn complicated."
"It's not my fault Cyril's innocent," Shawn protested. "I can't just stand by and—"
"He kidnapped you!"
"--but he didn't kill anyone."
Lassiter let out an exasperated laugh and shook his head, going just slightly faster than the posted speed limit. Shawn watched the speedometer with disbelief. "You ever hear of Stockholm Syndrome, Spencer?"
"No, what is that? The compulsive need to remain entirely neutral?" he asked.
"That's Switzerland," Lassiter snapped.
"Well, why don't they call it Switzerland Syndrome, then?" Shawn demanded. "Who even knows where Stockholm is?"
"Because that's not what it means, Spencer! Look, the point is, it's when you start to sympathize with your kidnapper. Cyril's going to prison for kidnapping you whatever else he's done, so I think you need to face up to that."
"But he didn't kidnap me," Shawn said. "I went with him willingly."
Lassiter slammed on the brakes, spinning the car off to the side of the road and pulling to a stop, before getting out and slamming the door. Shawn sat there for a moment in shocked silence before following him out.
Lassiter pointed at him over the car. "I don't ever want to hear you saying that again. He took you against your will. I saw the whole thing."
"He didn't have any bullets," Shawn said. "I could have walked away a million times and you know it."
"Are you trying to get arrested?" Lassiter asked. "Is that what you want? Because just keep pushing me, Spencer, I mean it."
"I'm trying to find out who's really out there killing people!" Shawn said. "Because Cyril's probably next!"
"Riner's the one that did it!" Lassiter snapped.
"He wasn't lying about James Clavor, you found him," Shawn said. "He was telling the truth about that."
"We found a corpse," Lassiter said. "I'm still far from thinking Cyril Riner is innocent. Whatever they were there to steal Clavor probably had it, and Riner wanted it back."
"You won't even consider it, will you?" Shawn asked. "That I might be right."
"You can't always be right," Lassiter snapped. "Statistically, you're going to be wrong eventually."
"Statistically?" Shawn asked. "Lassie! Who cares about statistics? I'm asking you to trust me here. I need you to trust me, for once. I think you owe me that, after everything."
Lassiter pushed his shades back on his nose and looked back at the road. "Get back in the car, Spencer," he said.
They didn't say much more the rest of the way back to the station.
x x x x x x
Buzz ran up as Lassiter got out of the car. "There's someone here to see you," he said.
Lassiter was about to answer when he heard the passenger door slam. He saw Shawn start to head off down the sidewalk. "Spencer, get your ass back here! I'm not done talking with you."
"I think you made your feelings pretty clear, and I'm not sure there's anything left to say," Shawn said.
Lassiter pointed to the station. "Wait for me inside."
Shawn heaved a sigh, but went up the steps into the station. He frowned as he headed towards Lassiter's desk. There was a woman sitting on the surface, putting on lipstick as she watched her reflection in a small circular mirror. She had her legs crossed at the ankles, her feet encased in what were probably $400.00 dollars worth of shoes. She was wearing a yellow tube dress that she seemed ready to pop right out of, and a tennis bracelet around one wrist.
She snapped the mirror closed and looked up, her long black hair flying everywhere, and that's when Shawn recognized her. Ava Dah-Ling. The Dah-Ling Darling.
She frowned when she saw him. "Who are you?" she demanded.
"Shawn Spencer, police psychic," Shawn said, holding out his hand for her to shake.
She stared at it for a moment, and then replaced her lipstick and mirror into her purse. "Then I suppose you know why I'm here," she said. "And that it's not to meet you."
Shawn stared at his hand where it hovered in the air for a moment, before lowering it back down. "No, you're here for Lassiter," he said.
"Very good," she said. "I suppose you gathered that because I'm waiting at his desk?"
"I'm sensing some hostility," Shawn said.
"I don't believe in charlatans," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "My father spent every spare cent he had on them, and they never helped him one bit."
"Your father just died recently, isn't that right?" Shawn asked, noting the past tense and the hesitant way she spoke of him.
"Yes, but I'm sure you saw that in the papers like everyone else," she said.
"I'm starting to get why you want to talk with Lassiter," Shawn said.
Ava suddenly broke into a startling and blinding smile that transformed her completely. Shawn was taken off guard for a moment, until she rushed past him and straight into Lassiter's arms.
"Oh, Carlton," she said, clinging onto him. "I've been so scared!"
Lassiter awkwardly patted her on the back, and said, "There, there."
Shawn scrunched up his face in confusion as Lassiter carefully tried to get out of Ava's clutches. He sat her down in the chair beside his desk, and she started crying almost at once. "I saw it on the news, Riner's escaped and he killed that man. He's going to come after me next!"
"He doesn't have any reason to come after you," Lassiter said reassuringly. "But I can assign a patrol to drive by your house, alright?"
"Oh, that would be wonderful," she said. "I'm all alone now, it gets so lonely by myself, and I get scared at every little noise."
Shawn watched her carefully, tilting his head. This was not the same Ava he had been speaking with a moment ago. He just didn't know whether the act was to get protection from Lassiter or something else. "Ava," Shawn said, stepping closer. "How much did you see the night of the murder?"
She glared daggers at him, and haughtily tossed her hair back. "I saw everything."
"And was Riner there alone?" Shawn asked. Lassiter glared at him, but he ignored it.
"Yes, he was alone, the whole time, and he shot that guard, bam, in cold blood. I saw the whole thing."
"So you actually saw Riner shoot Tim Daly?" Shawn asked.
"That's what I just said, isn't it?" she demanded, before turning back to Lassiter. "Why is this man interrogating me? I've come here for help, not interrogation. I've told you all this before."
Lassiter ushered Shawn to his desk chair. "Sit," he said, before returning to Ava. "I'm very sorry about him. Why don't you tell me why you're so scared, okay?"
Ava reached out, and absentmindedly buttoned a loose cuff on Lassiter's sleeve. Shawn glared at her as she did it. "He is out for revenge, yes? And I caught him. He would not have been in jail if not for me."
Lassiter grabbed a business card off the stack on his desk. "Tell you what," he said. "I want you to have this. It's got my direct line. If you get scared at all, you can call me, okay?"
Ava nodded, wiping away her tears. She reached out and took the business card, and then she grabbed Lassiter's cellphone from his desk. "I'll give you mine, too," she said, and entered her number into his phone. Lassiter took it back, bemused. "Then if you need anything, you can call me."
Shawn rolled his eyes, and sunk further into the seat. As though she sensed it, Ava turned to glare at him. Shawn smiled back sweetly.
Lassiter helped Ava up from the chair. "Let me walk you out," he said, very gentlemanly, and led her out of the precinct, talking quietly with her all the while. Shawn strained to hear them, but couldn't quite make out the words.
"She's all wrong for you, you know," Shawn said sullenly, when Lassiter returned.
Lassiter grabbed his arm to pull him back out of his chair, and sat down in his place. "It's not like I'm planning on dating her, Spencer," Lassiter snapped. "She's a witness, and anyway, she's too young for me."
"She's only a couple of years younger than me," Shawn protested, as he sat down on the edge of Lassiter's desk.
"Then why don't you date her?" Lassiter asked.
"She's too high maintenance for my tastes, and anyway, she's totally into you," Shawn said.
"No she's not," Lassiter said patiently. "I was one of the first responders when the murder happened. I helped calm her down. She's just thankful."
"So she was pretty broken up about it then?" Shawn asked. "The murder?"
"She was very close to the guard," Lassiter said. "They were good friends."
"Well, that's interesting, considering she doesn't even remember his name," Shawn said.
Lassiter paused. "What are you talking about?"
"The guard's name was Avery Daily, not Tim Daly. Tim Daly played the uninteresting brother on Wings. Seriously, how do you not know this stuff?" Shawn picked up one of Lassiter's business cards, read it front to back, and then stuck it down his front jeans pocket.
"So what, Spencer? So she forgot. It was years ago," Lassiter said.
"If someone was murdered right in front of you, wouldn't you remember their name?" Shawn asked. "Wouldn't you care enough to do that much at least?"
Lassiter sighed, and leaned back in his chair. "Spencer, here's a little life lesson. Most of these people are too involved with their own lives to care much about what happens to the people around them. Ava Dah-Ling isn't going to win any awards for being the citizen of the year. She got her fifteen minutes of fame and went a little crazy with it. But she didn't hurt anyone, and we don't arrest people for being self-centered. If we did, I would have put you in jail years ago."
"I think I'm actually offended by that," Shawn said. "But you're missing my point."
"You have a point?" Lassiter asked.
"Yes, and my point is that she's lying, it's just a matter of about how much," Shawn said.
"How do you figure that?" Lassiter asked incredulously.
"Because she said she saw Cyril shoot Daily," Shawn said. "And Cyril didn't shoot Daily. So. Lying."
"Or," Lassiter said wryly, "Cyril did shoot Daily, and that's exactly what she saw."
"Let's just agree to disagree," Shawn said, as he stood and started walking backwards towards the door. "I'll be right, and you can be wrong."
"Hey, back here," Lassiter said. "You need to be debriefed."
"I hope that's not what it sounds like," Shawn said. "Because it's laundry day and I'm wearing my granny panties."
Lassiter ignored him. "I haven't had a chance to find out what happened after Cyril left with you that night," he said. "We've let you slide on the official questioning because of your status as a consultant, but we need to know what happened."
"Last time I tried to tell you what happened, you told me never to say it again," Shawn said.
Lassiter rubbed at his forehead and bit back another sigh. "Just stick to the facts, Spencer."
"We drove off," Shawn said. "Cyril recognized me, and wanted my help. I told him I needed Red Bull, so then we went to the Seven Eleven."
"You went to Seven Eleven?" Lassiter asked.
"Yes, for Red Bull, please keep up," Shawn said. "Then we went to the strip club."
"And why did you go to the strip club?" Lassiter asked.
"Because we were looking for Mark Lyle," Shawn said. "I knew he'd be there."
"Of course you did," Lassiter said. "And how was that?"
"Psychic," Shawn said.
"Right, of course," Lassiter said, with false patience. "And what happened when you got there?"
"I had a charming conversation with a beautiful young lady named Amelia, and then I got shot at, and thrown from a moving vehicle. It was only going like twenty miles per hour, but when I tell this story later I'm going to up it to at least forty-five." Shawn looked at his feet thoughtfully. "Do you think I could sell fifty?"
"And did Cyril tell you how he escaped?" Lassiter asked.
"No," Shawn said. "I told you, that came from you."
"So basically you have nothing relevant to tell me," Lassiter said.
"I wouldn't say that in such general terms, because I know all kinds of relevant things," Shawn said. "But if you're specifically referring to the case, then yes. Pretty much."
Lassiter watched him carefully. "What were you doing in that room?" he asked. "The one with my notes."
"I was lost," Shawn said.
"Psychics can get lost?" Lassiter asked.
"I know I make it look really effortless, but to be psychic is not to be all-knowing," Shawn said. "We thought it was the bathroom."
"You and Gus go to the bathroom together?" Lassiter asked.
"Sure. We like to gossip at the stalls," Shawn said. "Girl talk, you know."
"Uh huh," Lassiter said. "Why are you so interested in Cyril's escape? If you really think he's innocent, then what does that part even matter?"
"It's not that Cyril escaped that interests me," Shawn said. "It's how he did it."
Lassiter leaned back in his chair, staring at the surface of his desk. "So is that it?" Shawn asked. "Are we debriefed?"
"You're hiding something from me," Lassiter said. "I want to know what."
"I've told you everything," Shawn said, and started back towards the door.
Lassiter stood up and followed him. "Spencer," he said. "We're not finished."
"I answered your questions, I played along," Shawn said. "But there's nothing else that I can tell you, not unless you let me actually go start investigating."
"You're not working this case," Lassiter snapped.
Shawn started down the front steps. "Not at the moment, no, because I've been rather selflessly devoting my time to entertaining you," he said.
Lassiter grabbed his arm to swing him back around as he reached the bottom steps. "Spencer, have you learned nothing from what happened with Drimmer?"
"I learned you can't even always trust cops," Shawn said. "Although, to be fair to Drimmer, my father did a pretty good job of teaching me that too."
"I told you before, I'm not anything like him," Lassiter said.
"You're the one that keeps bringing up the comparison," Shawn said. Lassiter let go of Shawn's arm, and he spun in place, feeling the hairs on his neck starting to stand up. He had that sudden cold feeling that people always get when they're being watched. He glanced around, but there wasn't anyone that he could see. There was a maroon Cadillac parked around the corner, but no one was inside.
"Spencer, look at me," Lassiter snapped.
"We're being watched," Shawn told him.
"What?" Lassiter asked, one hand going to his holster automatically. He grabbed Shawn by the back of his shirt with this free hand and pushed him back towards the precinct. He may doubt Shawn's every other word, but he knew better than to second-guess his instincts. "Back inside."
Lassiter shoved Shawn onto the bench in the entryway and then held a whispered conversation with a couple of patrolmen, before sending them outside. He walked back over to Shawn. "They're going to check around," he said. "And you're going to call Guster and have him come take you home."
Shawn wanted to protest purely on principle, but the truth was he'd been planning on doing that anyway before Lassiter had chased him out the door. He pulled out the phone and dialed Gus's number. Lassiter looked satisfied and headed back to his desk.
"Shawn?" Gus said at once. "What's going on? I thought you would have called by now."
"Lassiter's been interrogating me," Shawn said. "I'm at the station. Think you can swing by?"
"I'll be there in seven minutes," Gus said.
Shawn dropped the phone back in his pocket and got to his feet. He could feel Lassiter's eyes boring into him, and made a point not to look his way. Shawn noticed the patrolmen return. Lassiter walked up to them, snapping out a, "report," and Shawn discreetly slipped within hearing range.
"We didn't see anything, sir," one of them said. "Do you want us to keep looking?"
Lassiter was looking at Shawn when he answered. "No, that's fine. Thank you." He turned and walked back to his desk.
Gus was there a moment later, and the first thing he did was snatch the phone out of Shawn's pocket. "I'll be taking that back," he said. "I hope you didn't go over my minutes."
"Stop trying to feel me up," Shawn said.
Gus looked past him towards Lassiter, who had returned to his paperwork the moment he saw Gus come in. "What's going on?" he asked.
"Nothing," Shawn said. "The usual. Let's just go."
"Are you okay?" Gus asked, as they headed out and got into the car. "Did you really call Cyril on my phone?"
"Don't worry, Cyril's phone can't be traced, nothing could be proved," Shawn said.
"That doesn't make me feel better, Shawn," Gus snapped.
Shawn was watching all the mirrors as they turned out into the road, and every few minutes he glanced behind them. "What's the matter with you?" Gus asked. "You're making me nervous."
"I think we're being followed," Shawn said.
"What?" Gus demanded.
"Well, actually, I think I'm being followed," Shawn said. "It's just that you're driving the car."
"Shawn, I'm going back to the station," Gus said.
"No, they're too smart for that," Shawn said, squinting back into the rearview. "Whoever it is avoided the patrol Lassie sent out to find them."
The car behind them was a Beetle, not exactly the recommended choice for surveillance, but Shawn spotted the same maroon Cadillac from earlier, and it was always staying two or three cars behind, steadily following their every direction. "Got you," Shawn whispered. "Pull over, Gus."
"What? No way, Shawn," Gus said. "We're being stalked. You don't get out of the car. I'm sure there's a rule about that."
"There's not a rule about it," Shawn said. "Pull over."
Gus was glaring at him, but he did it. Shawn watched as the maroon Cadillac pulled out of traffic and parked along the sidewalk about twenty-five feet behind them. He opened the door and hopped out of the car.
"Shawn! Shawn, get back here," Gus said, unsnapping his seatbelt and reluctantly following him out.
Shawn approached the car cautiously, eyes tracking the man in the driver's seat. He was wearing a blue baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, and Shawn had the worst feeling that he knew exactly who it was. He stepped up to the driver's side door and slapped a hand twice down on the window.
The window rolled down and the man looked up, tilting the hat back further on his head. "Shawn."
"Dad?" Shawn said, disbelieving. "You got a rental so you could spy on me?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Shawn, the car belongs to a friend," Henry told him. "Guy owed me a favor."
"Seek help," Shawn told him. "You've finally lost your mind!"
"I know exactly what I'm doing, you're the one I'm worried about. And the fact that you ran right over here without knowing who I was just goes to prove any point I was going to make," Henry snapped. "I could have been some psycho!"
"Don't sell yourself short, dad," Shawn said.
Henry opened the door, climbing out of the car angrily. "I'm trying to protect you."
"There are less creepy ways to go about it!" Shawn snapped. "You could remind me to wear sunblock, and to always have a coat, like a normal parent."
"And you could be a normal kid, so those could be my biggest worries," Henry said.
"If you wanted a normal kid," Shawn said, "you went about it all wrong."
"When are you going to stop blaming me for everything?" Henry demanded. "I should call Vick up right now, and end this little charade once and for all."
"But you won't," Shawn said. "Or you would have done it already."
"Yeah, okay, just cause you're so damn smart, Shawn, I'll give you that one. You want to know why? You want to know what happens if you get revealed as a fake?" Henry demanded. "Every single guy you helped put away gets an appeal. And unlike you, I actually think about the consequences of something before I do it."
"I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact that you're covering your own ass," Shawn said.
"No, Shawn, it didn't," Henry snapped. "Because if I could get you out of this mess you've gotten yourself into without destroying all these people around us, I'd do it in a heartbeat, and to hell with what it would do to me."
"I'm not listening to this," Shawn said, throwing up his arms. "Seriously, dad, get yourself a hobby."
Shawn spun on his heel and went back to Gus's Echo. At some point, Gus had returned to the car, and when Shawn tried to open the door, it was locked. He tapped on the glass, but Gus was avoiding meeting his eyes. He rolled the window down all of half an inch.
"Gus, open the door," Shawn said.
"Go talk with your father, Shawn," Gus said, and started the car.
"Gus! Gus, don't you dare leave me here," Shawn said. "Open this door, Gus. Gus! Gus!"
"I know better than to get in the middle of this," Gus told him, and then hit the gas and sped away.
Shawn pushed himself back a few steps to avoid being run down, and then turned back to look over at his father. Henry was leaning back against the driver's side of the car, arms crossed and looking only slightly smug.
"Did you need a ride?" he asked.