Lassiter was checking out all the drawers behind the counter.
“Don’t bother,” Coules said. “I already checked. Killer must have thought of that.”
“Then there really is no way to solve this,” Gus said. “Let’s go.”
“That would be true,” Coules said, “except for one small detail. The shotgun isn’t by the body. That means that somebody must have tossed it away from the victim-and that wouldn’t be the victim himself, now, would it? So we find the gun, run whatever prints are on it, and our suspect is as good as in the gas chamber.”
“That’s very good thinking, Lassie,” Shawn said.
“What do you mean, it’s good thinking?” Gus whispered anxiously. “It’s bad thinking. Very bad. Or have you forgotten which nonmurderer left his fingerprints all over that gun?”
“I forget nothing, my friend,” Shawn said. “Like the fact that in this tiny shack, no one’s found the gun yet. Which means the killer probably took it with him. So you’re safe.”
Gus breathed a sigh of relief. Or he would have, if he could have persuaded his lungs to inhale the toxic air in the shack. Then he saw a glint of light reflecting off metal in a far corner of the office. “I’m safe-unless Lassie decides to look behind that filing cabinet.”
Shawn followed Gus’ gaze. The shotgun’s barrel peeked out from behind the cabinet. “What do you know? Lassie really nailed this one. Who’d have thought it?”
“I would have,” Gus said. “I knew this was going to happen. I’m going to the gas chamber for a crime I didn’t commit.”
“Would you rather be executed for something you did do?” Shawn said. “At least this way you can feel morally superior to the rest of the guys on death row.”
“Shawn!”
“Stay cool, buddy,” Shawn said. “All we’ve got to do is distract him before he finds the gun.”
“So start distracting.”
Shawn gave it a quick thought, then doubled over and let out a screech. “I’m hearing a voice. It’s speaking.”
Lassiter didn’t bother to look up as he searched the office. “That’s nice. Tell them they’re too late.”
“It didn’t work,” Gus whispered to Shawn. “Try something else.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Like he was a member of a criminal conspiracy that reached to the highest echelons of Santa Barbara society.”
“And let them have the glory of busting the case wide open?” Shawn thought again, then jerked backward. “‘I found a picture of you,’” he sang.
“‘Oh oh oh oh oh oh,’” Gus added.
Lassiter peered down at the floor to examine a large stain. “I don’t like music when I’m working.”
“That didn’t work either,” Gus said.
“Which is really odd. My fifth-grade music teacher said my voice had a rich, strong timbre.”
“Shawn!”
“I’m thinking.”
“There’s no time for thinking. We need a way to distract Lassiter now!”
Actually, there was some time left. Lassiter was studying the filing cabinet, and it would be at least fifteen seconds before he would walk around it and see the gun’s barrel.
Shawn and Gus were so focused on Lassiter they hadn’t noticed the door to the shack creep open and Tara slip in. They didn’t notice her walk up behind Juliet O’Hara. They didn’t see her tap the young detective on the shoulder. They had completely forgotten about her until they heard her voice from behind them.
“Excuse me, Detective,” Tara said. “I have no choice in this matter.”
“In what matter?” O’Hara said, turning toward her.
Now Shawn and Gus did turn to see what was happening. Gus wondered momentarily how she’d managed to get past the uniforms manning the crime scene tape, but a quick glance at her legs made him realize how persuasive a woman like Tara could be to a middle-aged cop counting down the days to his twenty.
Lassiter looked up from his search to see Tara take O’Hara forcefully by the shoulders, then lean in toward her for a long, slow kiss.
For a moment, there was no motion in the shack, with the exception of Tara’s face moving toward Detective O’Hara’s. Gus felt a blush starting at his toes and working its way up to the top of his skull. He glanced over and saw Shawn staring with the same look he’d gotten when they walked into the wrong auditorium at the multiplex and discovered Mickey Rourke teaching Kim Basinger tricks far different from the ones they’d planned to see Mr. Miyagi teaching Ralph Macchio. Even Lassiter seemed to be unable to move, except for letting his jaw drop even closer to the ground.
“Shawn!” Gus whispered. “This is the distraction.”
“No.” Shawn’s eyes began to glaze over. “The rest of the physical world is a distraction. This is what matters. This is the only thing that has ever mattered.”
“Shawn!”
Shawn managed to pull his eyes away from the spectacle. “Right, murder, conviction, execution. Got it.”
He moved across the room just as Detective O’Hara recovered from her shock. She shoved Tara violently away from her just as their lips were drawing together. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. “I could arrest you right now for assaulting a police officer.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” Tara said. “It was what Shawn wanted.”
“I have no doubt of that,” O’Hara said. “Does he want you thrown into prison, too? Wait. I can imagine the answer to that one. Shawn!”
Lassiter emerged from behind the filing cabinet, holding the rifle’s stock in his gloved hand. “I’ve got the killer right here.”
Coules glowered at him approvingly. “You let my office know the instant you pull a print off that gun,” he said. “We’re going to teach this murderer you don’t take out an employee of the city of Santa Barbara.”
“Maybe we could start the lessons outside,” Shawn said. “I don’t know if you noticed, but it doesn’t smell very good in here.”
Lassiter shrugged and headed for the door. Gus and Tara followed. Once they were out in the air, they paused to take several deep breaths. The stench of garbage rising from the landfill seemed like perfume.
“That was amazing, Tara,” Shawn said.
“I was only following your orders,” Tara said.
“My orders?”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” Gus said.
Lassiter threw the shotgun at one of the crime scene techs, then started yelling at the two uniforms manning the tape. Shawn and Gus couldn’t hear what he was saying, but when the cops all turned and glared at them, Gus was certain that they’d already recognized his prints on the barrel.
“I think we may have worn out our welcome here,” Shawn said.
They started back to the car, but before they’d gotten halfway across the street, Shawn stopped. Detective O’Hara was standing apart from the other cops. Her face was red, although whether it was from embarrassment, anger, or the effort of holding her breath for the entire time they were in the shack it was impossible to say.
“Can you give me a minute?” Shawn said.
“It’ll take me twice that to get in the car anyway,” Gus said.
Shawn turned back and walked to Detective O’Hara. “You okay, Jules?”
She glared up at him. “Was that fun for you?”
“As a matter of fact-” He broke off when he saw the anger in her eyes. “No, no fun. Not at all.”
“I’ve fought so hard so long to get respect as a woman in this boys’ club of a department. I always thought you were on my side, that you saw me as a cop as well as a woman. But today you proved me wrong. You did more damage to my reputation than anyone ever has.”
“Jules-”
“Just get out of here, Shawn. I’m sorry I brought you onto this case. Now you’re off it.”
“Jules!”
