You Have the Right to Remain...Dead? Part 6

[musicalluna]

Title: You Have the Right to Remain...Dead? Part 6
Fandom: Psych
Author: MusicalLuna
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: All the regulars/None
Genre: Gen, Mystery, Suspense
Warnings: Little tiny bit of gore.
Complete: Yes
Summary: When an officer is murdered late one night while on duty, Karen forbids Shawn from getting involved, afraid he won't take the case as seriously as he should. But since when has a little thing like being banned from a case stopped Shawn Spencer?
A/N: I've been working on this story for over three months now. Up until three weeks ago, however, it was coming out really rather crappy. That was when I met my Psych fanfiction soul-mate centipede. She helped me work out all the kinks in my story and helped me realize the full-potential of this story. Thanks to her, this story is the best it can be. She was my encouragement, my grammar-nazi, and my holy-crap-I-have-to-do-that-because-that-idea-is-brilliant girl.

Thanks so much for rocking my Psych world!
Disclaimer: Psych and all related characters are unfortunately not even marginally owned by me. How tragic is that?
Some additional disclaimers: Numb3rs is not copyright me. I have never actually seen Numb3rs. XDDDD
McGriddles and McFlurries are McDonald's. Please don't sue me for using them in my story.
I don't know the Queen of England. I'm also pretty sure Henry isn't actually the Queen of England, but, you know, you never know.

The title is a quote by Harlan Ellison.

When Gus arrived at the Psych office the next morning at ten, Shawn was already there, having hauled out the glass board where he liked to play Numb3rs with his cases. He had already put up sheets of paper with the information for all of the officers in order of their deaths, along with a little United States map that had large red dots over the cities where the officers had died. Most of the dots were focused in California and the surrounding states, but one was as far away as Texas. Along with all of this, there was a badly drawn picture of a group of probably forty stick figures (mostly just heads) with the first row’s faces X-ed out with red Sharpie. Shawn had drawn a large arrow beneath the picture pointing to the teacher at the beginning of the row, who was the lone survivor of this cop killer. As he put his things down at his desk, Gus said, "How long have you been here, Shawn?"

Shawn shrugged, stuffing half a McGriddle in his mouth. "Half-hour, maybe," he said through the mouthful. Gus rolled his eyes and moved over to inspect the board, his expression morphing to impressed.

"You did all this in a half an hour?" he said with disbelief.

"Sure, why not?" Shawn said. "Dude, try this. It’s awesome." He thrust a McFlurry which appeared to have French fries stirred in it at him and Gus grimaced. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to be Shawn. He operated on an entirely different level than most people, not to mention the fact that he possessed a stomach of steel.

"No thanks," he said, pushing it away, and pointed to the arrow under the drawing. "What’s this arrow for? Is this guy important?"

"Gus, everybody in that row of the picture has died. He should have been the first to go. There’s something up," Shawn said.

"Wait," Gus said, remembering their conversation from the previous day. "You mean the teacher? You think the teacher did it?" he said incredulously.

"It’s a little suspicious Gus."

"Shawn, he’s a cop. A retired one by now probably. You cannot accuse a cop of being a serial cop killer. That’s like jumping into a pool full of hungry sharks, Shawn! Don’t be stupid."

"Come on, Gus! How many other people would have access to these specific people? And how weird is it that he didn’t get murdered? I mean, seriously. Even if he is a cop, there are just way too many coincidences. Look, I think my dad knew him, we’ll go and ask him about this guy and get a feel for him, okay?"

Gus made a face, reluctant to agree, but the plan sounded reasonable, and if he couldn’t convince Shawn to drop it, maybe his father could berate him into dropping it. "All right, fine, let’s do it," he finally assented.

~ * * * ~

When the door to his father’s house swung open, Shawn grinned, Gus looked uncomfortable, and Henry immediately sighed. "Hello, Shawn. To what do I owe this little visit?"

"No reason, Dad, I just wanted to come hang out," he said with a crooked smile.

Henry’s eyebrows went up skeptically. "Uh…huh."

"So can we come in? It’s sort of rude to leave us standing here, don’t you think?"

Henry heaved another sigh and muttered, "I’m going to regret this… All right, come in."

Shawn’s grin broadened and he bounded into the house, followed by a more docile Gus, who tried his best not to look suspicious. "So, what’s up, Shawn?" his dad asked guardedly.

"Not much. Gus and I don’t have any cases right now, so there’s not a lot to do," he said, inspecting the pictures on the mantle in what was almost a casual manner.

"Oh really? No cases, huh?" Henry glanced at Gus, who looked away quickly. How did he get stuck in the middle of these things?

"Nope," Shawn confirmed. "What have you been up to?"

Henry crossed his arms, eyeing his son critically. "Not much either."

"Played any poker lately?"

"No…"

"Planning to?"

"Shawn, what are you getting at?" he finally demanded.

Shawn shrugged innocently, "What? I’m just making conversation!"

"Oh, right, and I’m the Queen of England."

Shawn gasped. "Your majesty!" He bowed deeply and Henry rolled his eyes.

"Shawn, what do you want? What is it you’re looking for?" he asked. "Either spit it out, or get out of my house. I know you Shawn; you can’t inveigle information out of me."

Shawn grimaced and then sighed, moving over to his dad in one big step. "Okay, so here’s the thing. I was wondering if you knew a guy named James Halloway when you were on the ‘force." The expression on Henry’s face told Gus that this conversation wasn’t going to go well.

His eyes narrowed and he said, "Why, Shawn?"

Shawn made another face. "See, it’s kind of complicated, Dad. I just wanted to see what kind of guy he was—"

"Yes, Shawn, I did know him," Henry said harshly. "And he was a damn good cop and when he taught, he was a damn good teacher. The cops he helped graduate were some of the most prepared rookies I’ve ever seen."

"So he didn’t have, say, a temper, or maybe a little imbal—"

Henry glowered, "Shawn, I don’t like what you’re implying."

"Oh, yeah, ‘cause I enjoy asking you if one of your buddies might have gone a little wacko," Shawn muttered.

"Excuse me?" Henry said, and then realization dawned on his face. "Are we talking about those murdered policemen, Shawn? Is that the case you’re working on?"

Shawn looked away, his mouth thinning to a narrow line. Gus cringed. Here it came.

Henry’s face was a mixture of shock and fury. "No way, Shawn. No. Way. I will not stand aside and let you blame a cop for this madness. I can’t believe you’re even considering it, after everything I taught you—"

"Dad, he’s the only one who makes sense! You just don’t—"

"You’re not looking hard enough Shawn!" Henry snapped. "Halloway was one of the best cops I ever worked with and he may have been a hard ass, but you can not pin murder on him. I—" He waved his hands in front of him as though trying to wipe the conversation away. "That’s enough Shawn. You’re wrong. Just let this one go, do you understand me? Do you?"

Shawn grit his teeth and nodded. "Yes, sir." It made him crazy that his father still knew exactly how to cut him down and make him feel like a foolish child.

"Good. Now get out of here. I don’t want you here right now. And I’m not kidding Shawn, don’t go after Halloway," he warned.

Shawn nodded sulkily and he and Gus quickly exited the house. When they were back in the car he said darkly to Gus, "Let’s go. We’re going to the police station."

Gus shook his head. "Shawn, I don’t..."

"Go, Gus," Shawn said adamantly. Gus sighed and did as Shawn asked.

~ * * * ~

At the station, Shawn leapt out of the car and Gus followed, an ominous feeling hanging over him. Shawn was in a bad state right now and he had a feeling that whatever he was about to do wasn’t going to be good. "Shawn…Shawn!" he yelled, "Wait up! Are you sure about this? Are you absolutely sure?"

Shawn turned on him and said impatiently, "Don’t you start in on me too Gus! Who else could it be? Halloway is the most likely suspect; I don’t care what my father said. Come on, just trust me!"

"Shawn, you’re angry, you’re not thinking—"

"I’m thinking fine!" he snapped. "Now come on Gus. Don’t chicken out on me now."

Gus grit his teeth and took a deep breath, tilting his face upward. He had a sickening feeling that Shawn was wrong and he hated it that he still felt obligated, as Shawn’s best friend, to support him. "Okay," he finally said. "All right. But Shawn, if you’re wrong—"

"I’m not wrong!" Shawn insisted and whipped back around, hurrying up the station steps.

Inside the station, Shawn stalked through the crowd Gus tailing behind, heading for Karen’s office when he slammed directly into Detective Lassiter. He cursed, and Lassiter raised an eyebrow at him in surprise. He had never heard Spencer use that kind of language.

"Lassie!" Shawn’s voice sounded more strained than usual—less playful. Lassiter narrowed his eyes.

"Watch it, Spencer, or I’ll arrest you for assaulting a police officer," he said grimly.

Shawn forced a laugh, "Oh, you’re funny."

"Did I make a joke?" Lassiter asked, unsmilingly.

Shawn faltered for a second, and then without warning, lunged forward, grabbing hold of Lassiter’s badge. Gus cringed. Uh-oh.

"Hey! What the hell are you—!"

Shawn let out a strangled cry, yanking on the badge as though he were trying to pull his hand away from it. "I’m stuck! Oh, I’m stuck!" he wailed.

Lassiter grabbed him by the shoulders and began bodily trying to force him off. "Let go of me, Spencer!"

Gus backed away from the scene, retreating to the edges of the room, to watch and see how Shawn would play this one up. Police officers and suspects were starting to stop and stare and he could see O’Hara and the Chief looking suspiciously in their direction.

Shawn yelped again, this time the sound only half contrived as Lassiter pulled hard on his arm, trying to shake him loose. "I can see him! I can see the murderer!" he shouted as loudly as he could. This started a strain of muttering around the spectators, though Gus stayed silent. This would not end well.

"What is going on Detective?" Vick demanded as she and O’Hara strode up.

Lassiter growled and said in a petulant tone, "He won’t let go of my badge! Get him off of me, Chief!"

"Hang on," Karen said, holding up a finger and Lassiter scowled. "What was that Mr. Spencer?"

"Ohhh," Shawn moaned, "I see him! His name is…" He paused dramatically, glancing around the room and for a brief second met Gus’s eyes, who shook his head just the tiniest bit. His expression soured and he looked back at the detectives. "…James Halloway!"

Gus looked to Vick and he knew instantly that they were in big trouble. He tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, pressing up against the wall.

"What did you just say?" Chief demanded in a dangerously quiet voice.

"James Halloway," Shawn repeated. "I’m getting a strong vibe from him."

Karen strode up to him and pulled him level to her by the front of his shirt, startling him, and she grit, "You do understand that you are accusing a retired, decorated cop of murdering his own Academy students, do you not?" Out of the corner of his eye, Shawn saw Lassiter’s expression harden and the grip on his arm tightened like a vise. He could barely suppress a wince.

He nodded, however. He had to be right.

Karen shook her head in disgust and muttered, "I thought you understood, Mr. Spencer, but I was obviously wrong. I want you to get out of my station, and I don’t want to see your face around here for a while. You’ve crossed the line this time." She let go of his shirt roughly and he stared after her, stunned. Okay, this hadn’t gone as planned. "Escort him out, Detective," she added, her voice hard as stone.

"But sometimes I can’t control—!"

Lassiter cut him off with a sneer. "With pleasure," he snarled, and Shawn hissed as he wrenched him around by the arm, and began forcing him out the front door. Gus followed behind, cringing away from the furious glares aimed in his direction. His hands were slightly up, but when he looked at Karen with an apology written across his face, she glared and looked pointedly at the door.

When they had gotten outside, Lassiter gave Shawn a good shove and he stumbled, nearly falling into a car. "Hey! You can’t—"

Lassiter stepped up to him again, forcing him back against the car and pointing a finger in his face. "I can do whatever I want now Spencer. You’ve made yourself a plague among the S.B.P.D. You’ll be lucky if you ever work in this city again." He smiled nastily. "It was nice knowing you, Spencer. Oh, wait. No, it wasn’t." He thumped Shawn hard on the chest with the backs of his hands as one last slight and then turned and stormed back into the station. He paused as he reached the doorway, then turned around. "I always knew you were a fake," he said bitingly, "but the funny thing was, I never actually realized you were that stupid.

"Congratulations, psychic," he said with the tiniest hint of delight. It did nothing to mask his disappointment. "I have never failed to underestimate you."

Shawn watched him go with disbelief. "I can’t believe this. The guy is a suspect and I’m the one getting ripped a new one! Gus, can you believe this?!"

Gus was quiet and Shawn looked at him curiously, barely hiding his apprehension.

"Gus?"

"Shut up, Shawn," he said without looking up from his feet. "Just…shut up. For once in your life, figure out when you need to stop talking."

Shawn stared at him, mouth open in slight horror, stomach twisting into knots.

"But…"

Gus looked up sharply and caught Shawn’s eyes with a fierce look. His own were angry, disappointed, and, underneath all that, ashamed and embarrassed. "No, Shawn. I think you went too far this time. I’m done."

"What?" Shawn said blankly. He shook his head as if to clear it, as though he had misheard his friend. "Don’t be ridiculous. This will blow over tomorrow and—"

"No, Shawn," Gus said forcefully. "Can you even hear yourself right now? You are so busy trying to ‘stick it to your dad’ that you’re not thinking clearly. I mean, what the hell, Shawn?! You just burst into a police station and accused one of their own of being a murdering traitor! A serial killer, Shawn! How could you not expect that reaction from them?!" He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the dumbfounded look on Shawn’s face and trying to calm himself. He hadn’t been this angry at Shawn in a long time. And worse, at himself. Shawn always did things like this and then acted like he was in the right—well, he was done with all of it, he just went along with too many of Shawn’s plans that he knew were bad ideas. He knew it was a stupid idea when they went to the police station. He knew exactly how they would react. And what did he do? He went along with it. Every, single, time he followed Shawn’s lead, whether or not he agreed with it.

He hated what being Shawn’s friend did to him sometimes. He couldn’t help it. He burst.

"I’m sick and tired of getting caught in your crossfire, Shawn! You may not get embarrassed, and it may not bother you that you’re rubbing salt in those people’s open wounds, but I do! You never consider the fact that I suffer because of your idiotic ideas and your half-cocked plans, and I go along with them! I—I just—" His anger seemed to fizzle a little and he held up a hand. "I can’t be around you right now, Shawn. I’m too angry. You need to stay away for a few days. I’ll see you later," he muttered, and turned, leaving Shawn standing alone in the parking lot.

Shawn stared after him, floored. Gus yelled at him all the time, but usually they were fine after a couple of minutes. If Gus was feeling particularly childish, maybe a few hours. But this…Gus really didn’t want to see him at all for a considerable chunk of time. Shawn would never admit it, but the very idea bothered him, hurting somewhere inside that he wasn’t familiar with.

He rubbed his hands over his face, suddenly angry with himself. Gus was right. He wasn’t thinking properly, and he had done something he honestly knew better than to do just because he was pissed at his dad, and now he was paying for it. No amount of charm was going to get him out of this one.

He looked for his bike, then realized he hadn’t taken it because, hello, duh, Gus had given him a ride. For a second he stood still, head in his hands, trying to figure out what he was going to do. Not about home—he would walk. It would suck, but he would walk the several miles home. But about everything else. What do you do when you’ve completely ruined your own life? He laughed hollowly, then started the hour-long walk back to his apartment with a vicious kick to a crumpled soda-can sitting in the parking lot of the station.

How stupid could he get, seriously? He had finally gotten the police to give him a decent amount of lee-way and respect, and with one (really lame, he might add) vision later, he had screwed himself out of everything he had earned.

Even worse, he had proved Lassiter right. He had just given them all the more reason to think he couldn’t handle "sensitive" cases because he was too much of an immature, impulsive clown. Oh, wait, he wouldn’t be handling any cases so even that didn’t matter. ‘Way to go, Shawn,’ he thought darkly, ‘Now you’ve proven Dad right.’

Not to mention the fact that he had managed to make even Gus angry.

He was really on a roll today.

Supremely annoyed with himself, he was thinking about how sucky it was that he had to make Gus angry when he didn’t have a ride home, when the sky, which had been gradually darkening, began to release a few drops, a few more, and a few more, until suddenly, it was pouring. Shawn cursed loudly and threw his arms up aggressively at the sky yelling, "Oh, come on! I didn’t say it couldn’t get any worse! Seriously!"

An older woman with a plastic baggy over her head and a shopping cart shuffled past him, giving him a strange, slightly apprehensive "what’s the loony going to do?" look. He glared at her.

"What are you looking at lady?" he snapped, and pushed his now sopping wet hair off of his forehead. Lovely, now he was shouting at little old ladies. He was very tempted to yell a spiteful, "Now it really can’t get any worse, HA!" He restrained himself. No use tempting fate.

But when he arrived home nearly an hour and a half later, soaked through, miserable, and shivering from the cold, standing on his doorstep was his father, dry, spitting mad, and waiting for him.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10  Part 11  Part 12  Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16