Shawn was in the middle of the room, and he was leaning over something that didn’t look like any bomb Gus had ever seen.
As he got closer, Gus could see that it was the tuxedo-clad body of the magician who’d slipped the card into his sock at the Fortress of Magic. He was sprawled out on his stomach, the crowbar that had been used to shatter his skull still lying beside his head.
“Is he dead?” Gus asked as he got closer.
Shawn didn’t bother to answer, and as Gus moved into the room, he could see that it was a foolish question. Gus gestured down at the crowbar. “How hard would you have to hit someone with that to kill him?”
“Not so hard it would sound like an explosion to anyone except the guy getting hit,” Shawn said. He was staring down at the dead man’s hands. Even in death, his fingers were immaculate. Except for the ring finger on his right hand. There was something dark underneath the nail.
“Car keys,” Shawn said, and Gus handed them over without even thinking. Shawn used one key to pry under the dead man’s fingernail and eased out a thick piece of rubber, so dark green it was almost black.
“What’s that?” Gus asked.
“More to the point, what’s this?” He used the key to pry open the magician’s left hand, which was locked into a fist. Inside, he was clutching an old clicker-style TV remote.
“I think that’s what they used to change channels back when they had only three of them,” Gus said.
“Not much of a weapon, though,” Shawn said.
“Good point,” Gus said. “That’s probably why he’s dead and the guy with the crowbar isn’t.”
“No, think about it,” Shawn said. “You’re about to die; there’s nothing you can do about it. Why would you pick up the TV remote as your last act?”
“So no one would find out you were watching The Mentalist?” Gus said. “I mean, really, who could believe a show with such an idiotic concept?”
“To send a message.”
Gus stared down at the remote in the dead man’s hand. “And that message is what-I’d rather die than go on watching this show?”
“Exactly,” Shawn said.
Shawn was about to pick up the control when they heard the front door bang open. “Police!” Lassiter yelled from the entry. “Come out with your hands up!”
“I’m in the shower,” Shawn called back. “Can you just slip it under the door?”
Gus probably didn’t hear Lassiter’s muttered curse, but he knew so precisely what that curse would have been, he might as well have. After a moment, Lassiter and O’Hara burst through the door into the den.
“What kind of twisted game of Russian roulette are you two playing?” Lassiter said. “Don’t you realize you could both have been killed?”
“Apparently we missed our chance.” Shawn pointed down at the magician on the floor. “He beat us to it.”
“Step away from the body, Shawn,” O’Hara said. “I’m going to call this in.”
“You can do that if you want to,” Shawn said. “But there really isn’t much point. I’ve just solved this entire case.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Gus gripped the bars with both hands and bellowed down the prison corridor. “Let us out!”
“Yes, that’s certainly going to work.” Shawn was stretched out on the hard metal bunk, hands laced behind his head. “You’ve got to wonder why in the entire history of incarceration, no one ever thought of asking to be let out before.”
Gus wheeled on him, furious. “This is all your fault.”
Shawn yawned. “I’m not the one who robo-walked right into a crime scene. Therefore, it wasn’t me who interfered with said crime scene.”
“I only did it because you told me to,” Gus sputtered.
“Getting us both into trouble,” Shawn said. “Really, if you’d start using a little independent judgment, we’d be better off.”
Gus looked around the cell for a weapon, but there was nothing that wasn’t bolted to the ground or screwed into the wall.
“We weren’t arrested for interfering with a crime scene,” Gus said, falling back on the only weapon available to him, his words. “The charge was obstruction of justice.”
“What does that mean, anyway?” Shawn said.
“It means that you claimed you knew the identity of Balustrade’s killer, but when Lassiter asked who it was, you wouldn’t tell him,” Gus said.
“I merely said that he needed to supply me with a few basic items and assemble a small group of suspects within the next twenty-four hours and I would explain it all,” Shawn said. “That’s hardly obstructing justice. More like delaying it.”
“Why didn’t you just tell him?” Gus demanded. “That way we’d be free, Benny Fleck would pay us, and we could think about something other than the fact that in a couple of hours I’m going to have to go to the bathroom and there are no doors here.”
“If it meant that much to you, you could have told Lassiter who did it,” Shawn said.
“I would have,” Gus said, “only I don’t know who that is. Because you wouldn’t tell me.”
“Damn right,” Shawn said. “Not if you’re going to blab it all over the place.”
At the far end of the corridor, a heavy metal door swung open with a creak. Gus heard sturdy, sensible pumps clacking on the concrete.
“Let me out!” Gus shouted. “Let me out and I promise to testify against Shawn!”
Santa Barbara Police Chief Karen Vick stepped up to the cell and gazed at Gus with the same calm, cool gaze she always had for them. And as always, her calm and her coolness made Gus stop worrying about whatever had been making him nervous and made him start worrying about what she might be thinking.
“I’d be careful about making that offer too loudly,” Chief Vick said. “There are some members of this force who would be only too happy to take you up on it.”
Shawn hopped off the bunk. “Fortunately, you’re not one of them.”
“Fortunately, I’m not one of them yet,” Chief Vick said. “But my patience isn’t infinite.”
“I don’t see why,” Shawn said. “It’s not like your bathroom doesn’t have doors.”
Gus had long marveled at the way Chief Vick seemed completely unaffected by even the most non sequitursiest of Shawn’s non sequiturs. This time was no exception.
“I am prepared to release the two of you,” she said. “Before I do, I need to ask you a few questions. First, do you know who killed August Balustrade?”
“We do,” Shawn said.
Gus was about to object that they most certainly did not, but Shawn silenced him with a look.
“Do you know what happened to P’tol P’kah?”
“We do,” Shawn said.
“We do?” Gus said. “I mean, of course we do.”
“Do you plan to explain this to the Santa Barbara Police Department at any time in the near future?”
“A great magician never reveals his secrets,” Shawn said. Gus kicked him in the shin. “But he’s happy to reveal someone else’s. So yes, all will be explained.”
“When?”
“Tonight,” Shawn said. “At the Fortress of Magic.”
“Of course,” Chief Vick sighed. “I suppose you have a list of people you want us to bring there.”
“Funny you should mention that,” Shawn said, pulling a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket. “By the way, the booking officer should have taken this away from me. I could have used it to pick the lock, dig through the concrete, tunnel five hundred miles, and end up in Mexico.”
Chief Vick eyed the list dubiously. “That might have made more sense than what you’ve got here. And what’s this?” she said, flipping the paper over to reveal a second list.
“Just a few things we’ll need before the big show,” Shawn said.
“A digital video camera, a quart of bourbon, police reports from the night of the disappearance, a twenty-two-ounce steak with onion rings,” she read.
“You can forget that last one,” Shawn said. “That was only if we were ordering our last meal.”
She glanced down the rest of the list. “I’ll see what I can do about these. Anything else?”