“I’d asked Lassiter to have some tests run on a tank of air,” Shawn said. “Has he had a chance to do that, or has he been too busy arresting people who are trying to solve his case for him?”
“Detective Lassiter is a man of his word,” the chief said, a touch of frost in her voice. “If he says he’ll do something, he will do it. Especially if it will help bring a criminal to justice.”
“So?” Shawn said. “Results?”
“It was air, Mr. Spencer,” Chief Vick said. “Just plain old air. Nothing remotely Martian about it.”
Gus watched Shawn carefully, looking for any trace of disappointment. But if Shawn was hoping for proof of interplanetary involvement before tonight’s denouement, he wasn’t displaying the letdown.
“Is that all, Mr. Spencer?” the chief asked.
“One more thing,” Shawn said. “Pull your guard off the door at the Fortress of Magic.”
“I’m happy to put my man back on the streets,” Chief Vick said. “But it’s not going to do you much good if the government agents are still there.”
“What do you think the bourbon is for?” Shawn said.
It took only a few minutes for Shawn and Gus to be processed out of the jail, and a few more for Gus to celebrate the fact of a toilet stall enclosed by solid metal on four sides. By the time he emerged, informed enough about the inequities of global trade to participate in a symposium, thanks to the most recent issue of The Nation that some officer had left hanging on the handicap rail, Shawn was hefting a cardboard box full of supplies. Chief Vick had come through, even if, for the bourbon, she’d had to substitute a two-thirds-full bottle of cheap scotch from the desk of one of her detectives.
Since they’d left the Echo in the police parking lot when they’d ridden with Lassiter and O’Hara to Balustrade’s house, it was only minutes later that the box was safely stowed in the backseat and Shawn and Gus were on their way to the Fortress of Magic.
They rode in silence, as Gus refused to ask Shawn what he had figured out and Shawn declined to volunteer. Even as they climbed the long hill up to the Fortress’ front door they didn’t speak, except for once, when Shawn asked Gus to carry the box and Gus declined on the grounds that since he didn’t know how the items inside were to be deployed, he didn’t want to leave himself vulnerable to new charges of obstruction.
Only when they were inside the Fortress and had ascertained that, aside from the “federal agent” Major Voges had left guarding the showroom, the place was deserted, did Shawn feel it necessary to converse.
“Okay, here’s what I need you to do,” he said as they checked out the main parlor. “Go offer the guard a drink.”
“Maybe you’d like me to burn down the police station while I’m at it,” Gus said. “Or hack into their databases and change all the names of the criminals.”
“First of all,” Shawn said, “you know this guy isn’t a real fed.”
“I know that’s what you told me,” Gus said. “I have no way of knowing if it’s the truth or not, since you’re not sharing any actual information with me.”
“Well, then,” Shawn said, “there’s an easy way to find out. Go offer him a drink. If he takes it, he’s a rent-a-cop. If he doesn’t, he’s a fed.”
“Or a very good rent-a-cop.”
“He’s spent days standing outside a doorway with no one to talk to except Officer McNab,” Shawn said. “I’ll be surprised if he hasn’t drained the bar by now.”
“Uh-huh,” Gus said, wandering toward the nearest open door, which led into the Fortress’ cramped office. He took a seat in an ancient swivel chair and felt the leather upholstery decaying into powder beneath him. “And what will you be doing while I’m subverting justice?”
“Stuff,” Shawn said.“Followed by things. Then maybe, if I get a chance, more stuff. All of which is essential if we’re going to get through our reveal tonight.”
Gus lifted his legs up and dropped his heels on the desk, nearly toppling over backward as he did so. The chair wobbled underneath him and he had to fight to keep from collapsing onto the floor, but it was worth straining his calves to let Shawn know exactly how indifferent he was to this plan. To complete the picture, he grabbed a dusty volume from the desk and flipped through it before he answered.
“Our reveal?” Gus said. “You mean one of those scenes where you explain it all, and I get to be amazed along with the rubes?”
“Oh, come on,” Shawn said. “You know you want to be a part of this.”
Gus leafed through the book, which turned out to be the Fortress’ booking calendar, and did his best to look fascinated by what he saw there. He would have whistled a jaunty tune while he pretended to read, but the cloud of dust rising up around him forced him to devote all his bronchial resources to fighting off a coughing fit.
“I’ll tell you who did it,” Shawn said.
Gus spared him a glance.
“I don’t mean right now,” Shawn said, “but definitely before everyone else.”
Gus slowly turned another page in the volume.
“Please, Gus,” Shawn said. “I can’t do this without you. Which means that P’tol P’kah will get away with everything.”
Part of Gus’ brain registered the fact that Shawn was desperate enough to make peace that he was willing to stop pretending he couldn’t remember the Martian Magician’s stage name. But most of it was too occupied with what his eyes had just seen in the ledger.
“Please?” Shawn said.
Gus eased his feet off the desk, knowing that any sudden movement would probably smash the chair into kindling, and stood up. “Look at this,” he said.
Shawn came into the office and took the book. Gus pointed down at the entry. Shawn stared, shocked.
“Do you know what this means?” Shawn said. “You’ve just cracked this case wide open.”
“You said you’d already solved it,” Gus said. “And not only that, you said it in a way that strongly suggested you actually meant it this time.”
“Not that case,” Shawn said. “That one I put to bed ages ago. No, this is a bigger case. An even more mysterious case. It’s so huge, it’s… it’s… it’s Jaws: The Revenge.”
“You mean…?”
“Exactly,” Shawn said. “This time it’s personal.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The tank was simple, a glass rectangle ten feet tall and four feet across with steel brackets reinforcing the corners and a metal lid on the top. Amazing how an object that looked so simple could be at the heart of something so complex, Gus thought as he stood next to it, watching the police usher in the people whose presence Shawn had demanded.
From what Gus understood, none of them had come easily. Now that the Higgenbothams had been unanimously accepted into the Little Hills Country Club, Jessica had threatened to turn to her new friends on the board, three of whom were also members of the Santa Barbara City Council. The only thing that brought her to the Fortress was Lassiter’s promise that if she didn’t come willingly, they’d bring her husband in her place and let him know all about her secret life. Benny Fleck, who had millions riding on the solution, nonetheless demanded that he be allowed to participate via video conference. Chief Vick had to apply personal pressure on Judge Albert Moore to persuade Fleck that his presence was required.
While she was at it, she got Judge Moore to lift the restraining order forbidding Henry Spencer from setting foot inside the Fortress of Magic, which eliminated the only plausible excuse he had for not showing up. Neither Bud Flanek nor Lyle Wheelock had any desire to return to the site of their great humiliation; fortunately, as veterans they both responded to the military presence of U.S. Army major Holly Voges, retired.
For most of the afternoon, the lone holdout was Barnaby Rudge, who seemed to have finally learned the art of the disappearing act. In fact, he was in the one place no one had thought to look-curled up asleep on a couch in the bar of the Fortress of Magic, just across from the comatose form of Major Voges’ guard. If one of the uniformed officers hadn’t popped in looking for the men’s room, they might never have stumbled across him.