Shawn managed to put on a look of shock. “This is our home,” he said. “We didn’t move here after spending most of our lives across the country like some people. We grew up here-and we’re not going anywhere.”
“What Shawn is trying to say is, we have deep roots in the community,” Gus said.
Gus could practically see the neurons bouncing around in Coules’ head as he tried to find a way to hold on to his case.
“Fine,” Coules said finally. “Let them go for now.”
Shawn and Gus exchanged a high five, a low five, a medium five, and a couple other fives that didn’t have precise definitions.
“But you’d better enjoy your celebration now,” Coules said, “because I am going to put you away for multiple murders.”
Coules turned and walked out of the interrogation room.
“That man needs to slow down and enjoy life a little more,” Shawn said.
“Don’t be fooled by the red face and shaking hands,” Chief Vick said. “Bert Coules loves his job. There’s nothing that gives him more pleasure than putting a criminal behind bars.”
“Except in this case,” Shawn said, “I think he’d prefer to put us there.”
“There’s one thing you need to understand, Mr. Spencer,” Chief Vick said. “I didn’t believe he had the evidence to charge you today, and I wanted to spare you and Mr. Guster a great deal of unpleasantness and Mr. Coules a great deal of humiliation. But if we find evidence against you, I’ll be working with him.”
She opened the door and ushered them out to the corridor, where two state marshals were leading a manacled woman in an orange prison jumpsuit toward the door. As soon as she saw them, she started screaming.
“Shawn! Help me!”
It took Gus a second to recognize the woman, if only because he’d never seen her in anything that wasn’t tight and red before. Now, stuffed into the baggy jumpsuit, her hair still wet and stringy after the blood had been washed out of it, eye shadow running down her face like tears, she didn’t look like the dangerously hot daughter of Satan. She looked like a little girl. A psychotic, delusional, murderous little girl, true, but even so, Gus felt his first twinge of pity for her.
“Shawn,” Tara cried again,“I only did what you wanted me to!”
All traces of pity vanished from Gus’ heart. Regan MacNeil was only a little girl, too, and she could make her head spin all the way around. There was no reason to think that this one couldn’t have made Marichal’s head do the same thing, let alone plunge a knife into Dallas Steele.
The deputies pulled Tara out of the room. Before the massive oak doors closed behind her, Gus got a glimpse of the short gray bus that would take her to the state prison for women near Chowchilla.
“Poor girl,” Shawn said. “We’ve got to help her.”
“We can testify in her defense, I guess,” Gus said. “Try to explain to a jury how crazy she really is.”
“We could do that,” Shawn said. “Or we can do something really useful.”
“What’s that?” Gus asked with a sinking heart.
“We can figure out who the real killer is.”
Chapter Seventeen
“ The real killer,” Gus said. “You’ve said that about six thousand times,” Shawn said.
“I keep hoping if I say it one more time the words will actually make sense.”
Chief Vick had arranged for a squad car to take them back to the Psych office. During the ride, Shawn had refused to let Gus discuss the case on the assumption that the officer behind the wheel would report back every word they’d said. Which Gus hoped fervently wouldn’t turn out to be the case, since Shawn had spent the entire trip talking about how much more alluring Chief Vick had become since they’d removed the Interim from her title.
The mindless conversation did allow Gus to think through what Shawn had said at the station. But by the time the squad car pulled up outside their bungalow, he still couldn’t find a way to see it as anything but wishful thinking. They’d seen Tara standing over Steele’s body, the knife in her hand. How could anyone disprove that?
“Think about it,” Shawn said. “What do we really know about Tara?”
“She’s crazy, for one thing,” Gus said.
“Let’s not use technical terms,” Shawn said. “What else?”
“She’s slavishly devoted to you, and she has a propensity toward violence.”
Shawn started writing a list on a yellow legal pad. “That’s good.”
“No, it’s not.”
“I meant as a list,” Shawn said. “What else do we know about her?”
“She likes to wear red,” Gus said. “She never apologized for nearly running me over and sending me off a cliff. And-Hey!” Gus had a sudden flash of memory, followed by a spasm of muscle pain as his body joined in the remembering. “I don’t know about Dallas Steele, but there’s no way Tara could have killed John Marichal.”
“That’s good,” Shawn said, writing furiously. “Why not?”
“You said it yourself,” Gus said. “When I was in the hospital, she was with you every second of the night.”
“That’s good,” Shawn said. “Except…”
“Except what?”
“Is that whole perjury thing still illegal?” Shawn said. “Because that might have some bearing on my testimony.”
“You told me she was with you the whole time.”
“Whole, part-that’s just quibbling,” Shawn said. “Didn’t it ever occur to you to wonder exactly when Tara first learned my feelings on the pickle-burger conundrum?”
“Never.”
“Really? Because that turns out to be such a major part of this whole situation, and I’d think that someone as smart as you might have put some thought into it. As my dad says, when you can’t find a clue, follow the time line. And the time line here would-”
“Shawn!”
“While we were waiting at the Community General Hospital waiting room, she might have stepped out for a moment to grab a couple of burgers.”
“She might have or she did?”
Shawn was too busy writing on the pad to hear the question. Gus tore it out of his hands. “Hey, that’s work product,” Shawn said.
Gus glanced at the writing. Shawn’s work product was one sentence repeated all the way down the page. “‘All work and no play makes Gus a dull boy’? That’s not even original.”
“I changed the name,” Shawn said.
Gus tossed the pad back at him. “So what you’re saying is that Tara could have killed Marichal.”
“It’s not what I’m saying,” Shawn said. “More like what the facts are hinting at. Or at least what Coules can make the fact look like.”
Gus sunk down into a leather chair, which settled under him with a whoosh. “Shawn, if she killed those people, how are we ever going to prove that we weren’t all part of a criminal conspiracy?”
“That’s why we have to prove she’s innocent,” Shawn said. “And to do that, we’ve got to-”
“Figure out who the real killer is,” Gus finished the sentence for him. “There’s still that one small problem. What if she’s the real killer?”
“I know she’s not,” Shawn said. “Look, we both know I’m not really psychic, but you have to agree I have a pretty good eye for detail. And those details say so much about who a person is. I’ve studied Tara in depth from the first moment I met her, and I’ve never seen a trace of malice or danger or cruelty in her. She can’t be a murderer.”
