here to search them, and then you keep pulling rabbits out from everywhere.”
“That’s just a Harry Potter knockoff,” Shawn said. “J. K. Rowling clearly delineated an entire modern government ministry devoted to the dark arts, complete with an investigative division. So what could possibly be new about this gag?”
Two men in dark suits and white earpieces stepped into the room and took positions on either side of the double doors. After a moment, a forklift rumbled in behind them and steered for the stage.
“Well that, for one thing,” Gus said.
“What is that doing in here?” O’Hara said.
“This tank and everything in and around it are being seized under federal statute 99-245-876, section forty- eight, subparagraph nine,” Voges said coolly. “If you attempt to stop my men, you will be subject to prosecution.”
O’Hara positioned herself between the tank and the forklift. “Not until I see some identification.”
Major Voges reached into her purse. Gus half expected her to come out with a bazooka. Instead, she produced a slim black wallet. She flipped it open and handed it over.
O’Hara stared at the ID in disbelief. “Federal Communications Commission?”
“That’s what the badge says,” Voges said calmly. “Specifically the Office of Engineering and Technology, Equipment Authorization Branch.”
“What possible jurisdiction does the FCC have in a murder case?” O’Hara demanded.
“Absolutely none at all.” Voges’ eyes never strayed from O’Hara’s face.
“Let me rephrase that,” O’Hara said with a calm that Gus knew cloaked anger rising toward rage. “What authority does the FCC have to preempt any local law enforcement activity that does not directly relate to issues of communications?”
“Again,” Voges said, “absolutely none at all.”
“Then maybe you could give me one good reason why I shouldn’t impound your forklift and throw all four of you in jail for obstructing justice.”
“No,” Voges said. “I can’t do that.”
O’Hara glanced back at her partner to see if he was going to step in. But Lassiter was staring at the major in unabashed awe. “Detective Lassiter,” she hissed, “we have a situation here.”
“We do,” Lassiter said. “And that’s why we should back off and let the major do what she needs.”
O’Hara pulled her partner off to one side and whispered furiously at him. “This woman has no jurisdiction here. She’s some low-level functionary in a bureaucratic division that has nothing to do with any crime more serious than stealing cable signals. How can you possibly suggest that we back off?”
“For exactly that reason,” Lassiter said.
“For exactly what reason?”
Lassiter held up one finger to suggest she watch and learn, then stepped back to the major. “Explain one thing to my partner, please,” he said. “Why exactly would a bureaucrat from the Federal Communications Commission be involved in a murder investigation?”
“There is absolutely no reason,” Voges snapped.
O’Hara let out a sigh that could be heard in Bakers-field. Lassiter shot her a look, then continued. “So if an operative from the FCC were to appear at a crime scene in California with three agents at her side and order the local police to stand down, would it be a logical assumption that her job title is actually cover for a different government position? Something that could not be discussed in the open without jeopardizing national security?”
“You might suggest that,” Voges said. “I couldn’t possibly comment.”
Lassiter cast a quick look back to make sure O’Hara was following him. She seemed to be, but she clearly wasn’t happy about it.
“We won’t ask you to,” Lassiter said. “But I hope you understand that without some clarification of the issues involved here, we can’t simply walk away from our own investigation. You need to meet us halfway.”
Voges looked him over with all the enthusiasm of someone who’d just discovered that the stray cat she was petting had a wide white stripe down its back. Then she snapped her finger and waved at the agent driving the forklift. It lurched into gear and headed straight for the tank.
Before the prongs could touch steel, O’Hara leapt across the room and positioned herself directly in front of the tank. There was no way to pick it up without crushing her.
“I advise you to move, Detective,” Major Voges hissed.
“I advise you not to tamper with my crime scene.”
“I don’t think you’re going to like Guantanamo Bay,” Voges said. “Especially with multiple broken bones. The medical care there really doesn’t live up to its reputation.”
O’Hara didn’t move. The forklift crawled closer.
“Detective O’Hara, stand down!” Lassiter said.
She didn’t move. The forklift was inches away, the prongs already surrounding her. The yellow steel of the lift touched her chest and pushed her back against the tank. O’Hara reached into her purse and pulled out her gun, leveling it at the forklift driver’s forehead.
Lassiter cursed under his breath. The situation was going to hell. But his partner had made a move, and he had to back her up. He yanked out his gun, but by the time he had it aimed at the major, she was already leveling an automatic pistol at him.
“Let’s stay calm here,” Lassiter commanded. His gun shifted between the major and her two agents.
“Drop the weapon, Detective,” Major Voges said, a dangerous edge in her voice.
“You first,” Lassiter said.
“And back this thing away from me,” O’Hara said to the driver, “or you’ll be driving a forklift in hell.”
“I said stand down, Detective!” Lassiter shouted.
“When they do,” O’Hara said calmly, or as calmly as she could with all the air pressed out of her lungs.
Across the stage, Gus and Shawn watched in horror. Well, Gus watched in horror. Shawn was mostly just watching.
“We’ve got to do something,” Gus said.
“Before we find out who’s going to win?” Shawn said.
“Between Detective O’Hara and eight thousand pounds of solid steel?”
“The major can’t weigh that much, even if she is made of metal,” Shawn said. “And even if she does, I put ten bucks on Jules.”
“They’re not going to start mud wrestling, Shawn,” Gus said. “This army woman is crazy.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Shawn said. “This retired army woman is crazy.”
“You have to do something.”
Detective O’Hara’s breath was coming in short gasps as the forklift compressed her ribs into her lungs. Her finger tightened on the trigger.
Shawn shrugged. Then he looked over at the major. And he saw. Saw the American Airlines ticket peeking up out of her bag, the letter d at the top. Saw a small stripe of blue ink protruding from the sleeve of one of her agents. Saw the bright white lip on the tan face of the forklift operator.
Shawn pressed his fingertips to his temples and let out a howl. “My molecules!” he moaned. “Bring them back! Bring back my molecules!”
Startled, the forklift driver took his foot off the pedal, and the machine stopped moving forward. O’Hara released the pressure on the trigger. Major Voges wheeled toward Shawn, aiming her gun at him. “What the hell is that?” she snapped.
“My guess is it’s a call from beyond,” Gus said. “It’s a psychic signal direct from P’tol P’kah.”
“He’s a local crank, and that’s the junior crank,” Lassiter said. “Ignore them.”
“Yes,” O’Hara wheezed. “Ignore them-at your peril. Shawn Spencer is Santa Barbara’s premier psychic detective.”
“And after you’re done with him, I’ll take you to meet Santa Barbara’s premier homeless guy,” Lassiter said, keeping his gun trained on Voges’ agents. “I think we can resolve our differences here between law enforcement professionals.”
“Is that before or after you’re all dead?” Gus said.
