up to the mountains to go cross-country skiing. He had started out happily, but ten minutes after he left the trailhead, he’d gotten hopelessly lost in the woods. He wandered around in the snow for hours before he was finally discovered by a troop of Boy Scouts. He had never felt so cold again until he stepped into Vick’s office.
The chief was sitting behind her desk and didn’t even make an effort to rise as they came in. That worried Gus, because she was unfailingly polite and professional. Aside from a brief period during her pregnancy, he’d always known her to be cool and steady at all times. She was exactly the kind of leader he’d dreamed of being when he imagined himself as president. But now she was looking at him like something she wished she hadn’t stepped in.
Lassiter had taken a place on one side of her. That he was scowling at Shawn and him was no surprise. But Detective Juliet O’Hara was on the other side of the desk, and even her usually friendly face was set in a hard glare.
“Hey, Chief.” Apparently Shawn hadn’t noticed the frost in the room. He greeted the police as if they’d just jumped out to wish him a surprise happy birthday. “Jules, Lassie, what’s the story?”
“It seems that you are, Mr. Spencer,” Vick said. “I wish it were a happier one.”
“Can’t tell if a story is happy until you get to the ending,” Shawn said. “Take Of Mice and Men, for instance. If you never bothered to read the last few pages, it could be the delightful tale of two carefree young men making their dreams come true.”
“Only if you’re an idiot,” Lassiter said.
“Oddly, that’s exactly what our eighth-grade English teacher said. She was quite harsh on poor Gus.”
“You’re the one who lost the book before I could finish it.”
“Perhaps we could turn our attention to the matter at hand,” Vick said.
“The very serious matter at hand,” Lassiter said.
“Are we all grumpy today?” Shawn said. “Even you, Jules?”
“It’s Detective O’Hara.” The air seemed to freeze as it came out of her mouth. “And while we all appreciate your concern about our mood, we have more important issues to deal with.”
Gus could feel his blood pressure rising. His heart pounded; his palms were covered in sweat.
“We’re dealing with a serious allegation here, gentlemen,” Chief Vick said. “I appreciate the work you’ve done for this department, and would like to give you the benefit of the doubt. But there’s a great deal of evidence, and I need some explanations.”
It was too late for that, Gus knew. If they’d talked at the impound lot, everything would be fine. But there was nothing he could say now that wouldn’t get them both into bigger trouble. There was really only one choice now, and that was to lawyer up. If they were going to treat him like a criminal, he was going to act like one.
Gus was preparing to declare his rights when he realized someone was talking in a voice that sounded remarkably like his.
“We went to pick up my car the day of the murder,” the voice was saying. “The attendant pulled the shotgun and tried to kill us.”
Gus looked around to see who was imitating his voice. No one was speaking. There were all staring at him.
“Before you go any further, you might want to consult a lawyer, Mr. Guster,” Vick said.
“Or at least with me,” Shawn said.
Apparently whoever was mimicking Gus was doing it from inside his body. Gus decided to give up and let the impostor take over. “He pulled out a shotgun and tried to kill us, just because we were trying to get my car back. I knocked the gun out of the way on his first shot. That’s why there were holes in the shack’s wall.”
“At least there’s something to thank you for,” O’Hara said.
“Then we ducked below the counter, and I grabbed the barrel of his gun to keep him from aiming it at us. When I released it, he flew backward and the gun went off again, blowing that big hole in the ceiling. Before he could get up, we ran out of there. He might have gunned us down in flight if Tara hadn’t showed up right then.”
“So Tara Larison was on the scene as well,” Lassiter said thoughtfully.
“Please go on, Mr. Guster,” Vick said.
“That’s really all there was to it. Except that when we went to the crime scene, we were concerned because our fingerprints were on the barrel of the gun. And Lassiter had a theory of the crime that fit exactly with everything we’d done, except we didn’t kill the guy.”
“Why didn’t you just explain all this to the detectives?” Vick said.
Gus started to answer, but then stopped. He hadn’t thought of a single good reason all morning, and one wasn’t coming to him now. “Shawn?”
“Yes, Gus?”
“Why didn’t we just explain all this to the detectives?”
“Because the spirits were calling out for us to solve the case ourselves,” Shawn said. “Because he’d tried to kill us. This time it was personal.”
“And did you?” the chief asked coolly.
“It’s on our list,” Shawn said. “All the spirits seem to be working on this project for Dallas Steele right now. Amazing what kind of service a couple billion dollars brings you.”
“Maybe that’s the reason,” Lassiter said. “Or maybe it’s because you assume the police are stupid and lazy. That we care less about solving crimes and catching criminals than we do settling petty personal scores against people who make us look bad. So you figured that after you humiliated me at the Veronica Mason trial, I’d be thrilled at the chance of accusing you of murder and seeing you put to death.”
“You did have Gus’ car towed,” Shawn said.
“And that makes you think I would ignore a real murderer, possibly leaving the general public at great risk, simply to satisfy my own hurt feelings. Let me say I’m shocked at the assumption.”
“After all the times we’ve worked together, Mr. Guster,” Vick said, “do you really think so little of us?”
Gus’ head was spinning. Somehow in the space of seconds he’d found himself transformed from the victim of coincidence and a possible police conspiracy into a heartless maligner of his closest friends. The temperature in the office seemed to drop another ten degrees.
“What about you, Shawn?” It was O’Hara, and she looked personally injured. “Do you share your partner’s despicable view of us?”
Shawn studied the question carefully, searching for an answer that wouldn’t make the situation worse in one way or another. Then he started to tremble. His fingers twitched, and the spasms seemed to move up his arms.
“What’s he doing?” Vick said.
“Looks like the Watusi,” O’Hara said, stifling a yawn. “I hope we don’t have to sit through forty years of dance crazes before he answers a question.”
“It’s so hot,” Shawn moaned, clutching his head. “The sun blazes down on me. Oh, why won’t they let me have some water? Why can’t I sit down for just one second?”
“What is it, Shawn?” Gus asked theatrically, thrilled that he was at the very least doing something.
“The rocks, the rocks, I have to break the rocks.” Shawn scanned the room and found an umbrella stand in the corner. He snatched an umbrella out and raised it over his head. “Have to break the rocks.”
Shawn brought the umbrella down sharply on the desk. He was raising it for a second blow when Lassiter reached over and pulled it out of his hands. “Use your words, Spencer,” he said.
Shawn grabbed his forehead and staggered a couple of steps. “The vision was so clear, like it was beaming directly out of the past into my head. I was a prisoner on a chain gang, breaking rocks in the blazing sun.”
“We wish,” Juliet muttered.
“Really, Jules, you, too?” Shawn said. Her frosty look answered for her.“I’m trying to make sense of this vision, because it must be some kind of metaphor. It was telling me that the man who was killed at the impound yard was a prisoner on a chain gang, but that’s not possible, because there haven’t been chain gangs in decades.”
“Hold on for a second, Shawn,” Gus said. “I seem to recall reading that they were using them again for particularly vicious criminals in Arizona.”
“That’s true,” Vick said.
