“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.
“My molecules are flying across the country,” Shawn said. “We need to stop them. We need to catch them. I need my molecules back.”
“I’m ordering you to remain silent,” Voges said to Shawn.
“And so am I,” Lassiter said.
“Can’t stay silent,” Shawn howled. “Must tell the entire country to look out for my molecules. Alert the entire population to watch for them. Got to tell the press the entire story… every bit of it.”
Major Voges glared at Shawn. “This is an issue of national security. It must not be reported.”
“No one is going to interfere with national security,” Lassiter said.
“Must tell the whole country,” Shawn moaned. “Starting in Washington DC. I think a lot of my molecules are there right now.”
“If you want him to shut up you’d better get a court order fast,” O’Hara gasped. “But you’d better choose the right judge, because there aren’t a lot who will grant an order of prior restraint.”
“Or maybe we can all just work something out right here,” Gus said quickly. “Releasing Detective O’Hara would be a good first step.”
Voges turned her glare on Gus for a moment, then signaled the forklift driver, who backed off. O’Hara took a deep breath of air into her lungs, held it for a long moment, then exhaled slowly.
“This must not go public,” Voges said. “I can’t explain the reasons, but this must remain secret.”
The major slipped her gun back into her purse. After a moment, Lassiter reholstered his.
“All we want to do is solve a murder,” O’Hara said, still breathing heavily. “You stand out of our way; we’ll stand out of yours.”
“I cannot let you examine this device,” Voges said.
“And we can’t let you take it back to Washington until we do,” O’Hara said.
“Kids, kids.” Shawn strolled over to the two women and put his face between theirs. “Didn’t Mommy and Daddy ever teach you anything about sharing? If you can’t play nicely together with your toys, then Mommy and Daddy have to take them away until you can.”
“Get back, Shawn,” O’Hara said.
“He’s right,” Lassiter said, although the look on his face suggested that it was painful for him to do so.
“Detective Lassiter!” O’Hara warned from between clenched teeth.
“We have a standoff here, Detective,” Lassiter said. “And it’s not going to be settled at our pay grade. We need to back off and let our superiors work this out.”
“And until then?” O’Hara said.
“We put the seal back in place,” Lassiter said. “And we’ll put a guard on the place.”
“Like I’m going to trust some Santa Barbara police officer to keep you out,” Voges said.
“About as much as I’m going to trust one of your goons,” O’Hara said.
“We’ll each put a guard outside the door,” Lassiter said. “They can watch each other.”
O’Hara and Voges considered it, and then both took a step back. Shawn clapped Lassiter on the back.
“Nice job, Lassie,” Shawn said. “We make a pretty good team. If that multiplex gig doesn’t work out, you’ve always got a place at Psych.”
“Get away from me, Spencer,” Lassiter said.
“I will,” Shawn said. “But don’t you think you ought to mention the morgue?”
“The morgue?”
“You know, the place where they keep the bodies?” Shawn said. “The ones you might want to investigate later?”
Lassiter thought this over, then turned back to Voges. “Do we need to post guards at the morgue as well?”
“Only if you plan to keep me from taking the body back to DC,” she said.
“Then it’s done,” Lassiter said.
Major Voges snapped her fingers and her three agents retreated to the doors, slipping through without ever turning their backs to the tank.
“I can’t believe you’re letting her get away with this,” O’Hara hissed to Lassiter. “You were willing to throw away your career for a look at that tank.”
“My career, yes,” Lassiter said. “But not my nation’s safety.”
“She works for the FCC,” O’Hara said. “She’s in the equipment authorization department. She probably spends her days testing TV remotes to see if they cause carpal tunnel syndrome.”
“James Bond officially worked for Universal Exports Ltd.,” Lassiter said. “That doesn’t mean he didn’t have a license to kill.”
“You told me there was no such thing,” Shawn said.
“He was right,” O’Hara said. “It’s fiction. All of it was fiction.”
“I understand your frustration,” Lassiter said. “I share it. But I look at a situation from every angle, I eliminate everything that’s impossible, and then I know that what’s left over, no matter how improbable, must be true.”