The two detectives led Eliot, tailed eagerly by Gus and Shawn, down to the autopsy room.

"No Woody?" Shawn asked in disappointment when he saw the cold, sterile room was void of any live bodies.

"He's out," Juliet informed. "Something to do with a motorhome, Christmas tree and a coy fish."

Eliot ignored the randomness of the statement, passing it off with the idea that everyone his cousin knew was slightly… off centre. Though Shawn would say an eccentric who looks good in jeans.

Their mark was laying out on the slab, the lower half of his body covered by industrial strength plastic. The congregation of detectives and con men surrounded the table, all eyeing Eliot as he carefully examined the stab wounds into the man's chest and abdomen.

Gus, unlike the others, was standing in the corner of the room facing the wall, waiting for an opportunity to excuse himself from the room without losing what little dignity he had left.

"Is that a Walther PPK?" Lassiter asked Eliot, eyeing the gun strapped neatly in its holster under his arm as he leant forward to pick up the autopsy report.

Perhaps he will be useful after all? The detective thought to himself; he was of the belief that handguns told you a lot about a person and someone with a good of a taste to carry a PPK would have to somewhat useful.

It wasn't of course, a real gun as Eliot was not a fan of guns himself but, considering the part he was playing, it would be remiss of him not to carry some sort of gun. Or, at least, something that appeared to be a gun. The weapon which Detective Lassiter had so keenly observed, though not an actual Walther, was a replica air rifle and, unless, you were holding it and extremely well educated in the matter of firearms, could not tell the difference.

"Yup," Eliot replied simply. "Is that an M1911?" gesturing to the detectives gun.

"Yes, yes it is!" the Lassiter declared gleefully and Eliot did what the detective never thought anyone would do; he scoffed. "Did you just belittle the Yankee Fist?" he asked in horror.

"Yeah," Eliot said as though it was obvious as he continued to examine the report and the body. "It's unreliable, its aim is just a little to the left, jams too often and takes too long to reload. Not to mention the cost."

Lassiter looked like someone had just called Tombstone a bad film.

"Are you serious?" he asked in disbelief. "And why should the cost matter; you buy one gun and that's it."

Eliot shrugged. For most people, that would be true but back in his Moreau and hitter days guns had to be used and then discarded, meaning that an expensive gun was an impractical gun.

"And?" Hardison queried over the comms, he and the rest of the team awaiting Eliot's verdict as they watched over the security feeds which Hardison had hacked into the night before.

"Wasn't a professional hit," Eliot informed his team and those in the interrogation room.

"You can tell that just by looking at our dead guy?" Shawn asked in awe and then tapped Gus lightly on the arm, trying to get him to turn around. "Gus he can tell that just by looking at our dead guy."

"Cut it out Shawn," Gus warned as his stomach churned.

"Why would it be a professional hit?" Lassiter asked abrasively. "The guy was curator at a second rate art museum…"

Through the comms Sophie scoffed.

"… the only people he pissed off were probably artist for not hanging their work up correctly."

"Why do you think I'm here for?" Eliot asked in response, matching the detectives insensitivity. "The guy was under investigation for multiple accounts of fraud, money laundering and racketeering. You think a guy like that doesn't have enemies?"

"So what's our next move?" Juliet enquired, stepping into to avoid a confrontation she was sure was coming

"Okay so, what we need to do," Nate began. "Is find out who hated our mark enough to kill him."

"But that could be anyone," Parker pointed out.

"We can rule out any gangs or organised crime for the killing," Eliot stated. "And we can narrow it down to people who he ripped off."

"We need to find out who's in the area," Hardison stated.

"Start with people who are in the area," Eliot relayed.

"Wait, what about our client's money?" Sophie asked.

"We'll get to that," Nate replied. "First priority is finding the killer."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Papa Bear!" Shawn exclaimed as Henry walked into the Psych office.

"Shawn!" his father yelled. "What's going on?"

"Well, Gus and I were about to make s'mores," Shawn joked glancing over at his partner for support. Gus simply rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his computer.

"I'm serious Shawn. Do you know what you're getting yourself into?"

"Chocolatey, marshmallowy goodness."

"Shawn," Henry huffed. "You're aware of your cousin's reputation aren't you?"

"Of badassery?" he joked.

"Shawn," his father warned. "I know you think your cousin is some sort of… Mr T but he's worked for a lot of bad people Shawn; he's not all good."

"Oh my goodness! Dad! Stop being paranoid," Shawn exclaimed as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and gave it a quick glance. "Can we do this later dad?" he asked quickly, grabbing his jacket off the hat stand.

"What?"

"Yeah, Gus and I gotta go feed some llamas; very important," Shawn said as quickly as he could as he scampered out the door dragging a confused Gus behind him.

I'd like to thank you for your patience in my uploading (it's much appreciated), updating will likely be slowed (if I haven't said that already) so I apologise in advance.

Even more thanks and for all of the reviews, follows and favourites!

It's the most I've ever gotten on a story so thank you.

Ta,

A Lyrical Dreamer