“That would include you two, then, wouldn’t it?” Coules said.
“Us?” Gus squeaked.
“You were certainly thinking about stopping by yesterday,” Lassiter said. “Just think, if you’d made the walk, you might have run into the killer. Your laziness might have saved your lives.”
This was the moment. All Gus had to do was say three simple words: “We were here.” Sure, there would be an investigation, but they didn’t kill the man, so what did they have to worry about? Even if Bert Coules was looking for vengeance after his humiliation at the Veronica Mason trial, he’d never actually charge them with the murder. And if charges were filed, what jury would convict them? A miserable year or two, a few hundred thousand dollars in legal fees, and it would all be over. If only Gus could bring himself to say those three simple words.
“It only looks like laziness,” Shawn said. “But it’s really more of a Zen survival thing. Or a Spidey sense. It’s hard to tell the difference between the two sometimes.”
Gus whispered furiously to him, “What are you doing? We should tell them.”
“After we’ve solved the murder,” Shawn said. “This is our case.”
Detective O’Hara cleared her throat. “Other forensic evidence is going to be mostly useless for the same reasons. From what I understand, the place is absolutely disgusting, even without the body. One of the techs tried to describe the bathroom to me, and was seized by another fit of vomiting.”
“Sounds like my kind of place,” Shawn said. “Let’s do this thing.”
“You really think you’re man enough to step through that door?” Lassiter said.
“Shawn’s man enough for anything,” a female voice behind them said. They turned to see Tara coming up to the door, looking stern. “And he doesn’t like it when his masculinity is questioned.”
“Good thing he hired a hooker to defend his honor, then,” Coules said.
“I am not a hooker,” Tara said. “I just dress like one because Shawn likes it.”
“That’s absolutely untrue,” Shawn said.
“No?” O’Hara said, studying Tara’s tiny dress. “Didn’t you try to get me to wear an outfit like that when I went undercover at that convent?”
“First of all, that was a joke,” Shawn said. “And second-what I mean to say was that it’s absolutely untrue that I order Tara to dress a particular way. Not that it’s untrue that I like it.”
Lassiter shook his head in disgust. “I’m glad we cleared that up. Now why don’t you ask your friend to leave? In Santa Barbara, we don’t bring dates to crime scenes.”
“So for Lassie we can add crime scene to the list, along with restaurants, movie theaters, and the beach,” Shawn said. “As for Tara, she’s not my date. She’s my… new assistant.”
“I thought Guster was your assistant.”
“Hey!” Gus said. “I am no one’s assistant. Shawn and I are associates.”
“Really?” Lassiter said. “That must be why I always see you running behind Spencer, doing exactly what he wants.”
Gus wanted to argue, but words wouldn’t come. He knew there was a mistake in something that Lassiter had said, but he couldn’t find it.
“Can we get this over with?” Detective O’Hara said. “That body isn’t getting any fresher.”
Chapter Six
“ I confess!” Gus screamed. “I did it! I killed that man! Now please, please let me out of here!” No one moved to take Gus into custody. No one even looked at him. That was probably because Gus had only confessed in his mind. But another two minutes in the shack, and he’d admit to anything if it would get him one breath of sweet fresh air.
The stench in the office was overwhelming. It was so strong it blasted through his sense of smell and filled all the others. Gus could taste it, see it, hear it. When he took a step, he felt it pushing back against him.
A quick glance at the others showed he wasn’t the only one reacting this way. Bert Coules was pressing his handkerchief to his face so strongly it looked like it was about to pass through his sinuses and out the back of his skull. Lassiter was trying to pretend the smell didn’t bother him, but he was breathing in short, shallow gasps, and his feet kept edging toward the door whenever he didn’t exert conscious control over them. O’Hara seemed to have simply decided to hold her breath until they were out again. Even Shawn had gone pale under the beard stubble.
Gus was glad Lassiter hadn’t let Tara into the shack. She might be crazy, but she certainly didn’t deserve this kind of suffering.
There was one person in the office who didn’t seem to notice the stench, but he had an excuse, being its principal cause. The attendant was sprawled on the ground behind the counter, a cloud of black flies buzzing around his head like a halo. His eyes stared up at the holes in the tin roof, which seemed particularly odd as he was lying on his stomach.
“It’s pretty clear what happened,” Coules said.
“Good, let’s get out of here.” Gus started toward the door, but Shawn hauled him back.
“Justice comes before comfort, Gus,” he said.
“And nausea comes before vomiting,” he said. “You want proof of that, keep me in here for a while.”
Lassiter moved to the front wall and pointed at the cluster of small holes the buckshot had punched in the metal. “Is this what you’re talking about, Bert?”
“Oh, my God, you’re right,” Gus said.
“Yeah,” Coules said. “It’s evidence that-”
“It’s air,” he said, pushing Lassiter out of his way and pressing his face up against the wall.
“How about you, Spencer?” Coules said. “Any psychic visions to tell you what happened here?”
Shawn halfheartedly raised his hands to his head, then dropped them again. “If spirits liked hanging around this kind of stench, they would never have left their bodies in the first place.”
Coules walked over to the counter. “You don’t think so? Maybe they’ll talk to me.” He pressed his index fingers to his forehead and winced. “Ooh, ooh, I feel it. I’m getting a vibe. I’m getting a feeling.”
Shawn turned to Gus, a troubled frown on his face. “Is that really what I look like?”
“Yes, that is the thing that bothers me the most right now,” Gus said, turning his attention back to the air holes.
“What’s that, spirits?” Coules said, dropping his hands away from his face. “Someone came in here. He was angry. Maybe he was angry because his car had been towed. He was yelling, maybe even threatening the attendant.”
“That’s not how it works,” Shawn said. “You’re just making this stuff up.”
“Yes, but the difference is I’m doing it based on the evidence. The victim felt threatened and pulled out his weapon, a shotgun he kept under the counter. His first shot was a warning. That’s the one that put the holes in the wall.”
“God bless him for that,” Gus said from his spot by the wall. He’d never felt so grateful to someone who’d tried to kill him.
“But the killer wasn’t scared off,” O’Hara said. “In fact, he attacked. I’d guess he leapt over the counter and knocked the victim off his feet.”
Lassiter pointed up at the ceiling. “That’s when the second shot went off. The gun was now empty, and the killer grabbed it and threw it away. Then he bent down and savagely twisted the victim’s neck, killing him.”
Gus saw one dim light of hope in the DA’s scenario. “The killer must have been a big guy to break his neck like that.”
“It doesn’t take size or strength to kill like this,” Coules said. “That’s the first thing they teach you in the Special Forces. It’s just a matter of knowing the right way to twist.”
“So it could have been anyone,” Shawn said. “The pool of suspects is infinite. It’s hardly even worth investigating anymore-unless you found something like a computer listing of the last people who came in to get their cars.”
