Psych: Mind Over Magic p-2 Read online

“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.

  Now everyone was assembled in the showroom, and they were all staring up at Gus in eager anticipation. Well, not eager so much as angry, and not anticipation so much as rage, but Gus did allow himself a moment of pleasure at being the center of attention for once in his detective career. And then he allowed himself another moment at the knowledge that as soon as Shawn took the stage, no one would be paying any more attention to him.

  But where was Shawn? Why wasn’t he here hogging the spotlight? Gus checked his watch, suddenly aware that he’d been standing mute on stage for a good three minutes and the crowd was getting restless.

  “I’m sure you’re all wondering why we’ve called you here tonight,” he said finally, feeling a need to fill at least a little of the hostile silence.

  “You didn’t call us here. You had us dragged by the police,” Jessica Higgenbotham said. “If I’d wanted to spend my life being rousted by cops, I would have stuck with the carny life.”

  “I promise, it’s going to be worth all the inconvenience,” Gus said, hoping fervently this was true. After all, Shawn had already announced on several occasions that he’d solved the case, only to have Gus point out that he was actually nowhere close. He fought off the terrible feeling that the real reason Shawn hadn’t explained the solution to him was that he was afraid Gus would poke holes in this one, too.

  There was an ugly murmur running through the crowd. Lassiter had noticed the change in mood as well, and had signaled the uniformed officers to take positions by the exits.

  “Let’s get on with this, Gus,” Henry called. “Where’s Shawn?”

  Before Gus could answer, Lyle Wheelock spit out a curse. “Maybe he’s got to break up another happy couple first.”

  “Yeah?” Henry said. “Which happy couple was that-the people who were getting married, or the ones who were cheating?”

  Benny Fleck marched up to Lassiter and O’Hara. “I am here, Detectives, under duress, having been forced to abandon several key negotiations at a crucial point. I was dragged across state lines for this catastrophe. So I strongly urge you convince me this was worthwhile before my lawyers can come up with a lawsuit that will bankrupt Santa Barbara.”

  “You may be able to throw your weight around Las Vegas, but the SBPD doesn’t play that way,” Lassiter said. “Now get back in the front row so you can see.”

  Fleck glared up at him. If Lassiter was the slightest bit intimidated by the billionaire, Gus couldn’t see it.

  For the moment, Lassiter had successfully taken control of the crowd, and the muttering had died away. But Gus knew it was only a matter of minutes before the unrest would start again.

  Just as Gus was searching for the right words to calm the audience, the houselights dimmed and a spot shone down on the stage. Shawn strode out into the middle of the spotlight and took a deep bow.

  No one clapped.

  “Where have you been?” Gus whispered furiously.

  “You never heard of making an entrance?” Shawn said. “Besides, there were a few last-second details that needed tending to.”

  “Like what?” Gus said.

  “Hey, it’s the psycho!” Lyle Wheelock yelled. “He’s the one who-Ow!”

  “Like that,” Shawn said.

  Gus peered out into the crowd and could make out a small boy sticking his hand in the air as a superball flew into it.

  “Is that Hank Stenberg?” Gus asked.

  “The Headhunter himself,” Shawn said. “Best crowd control you can buy for less than five bucks.”

  “Okay, Spencer, time to get going,” Lassiter said. “Make it good, make it convincing, but most of all, make it short.”

  Shawn made another deep bow and waited for the applause to subside, which presented a small problem in that it had never actually started. Gus nudged him and he straightened up.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Shawn intoned, “and police and ex-army majors and carny freaks and anyone I might have left out. We are gathered here tonight to solve a crime.”

  “Yes, Shawn, we are,” O’Hara called out. “We’ve been gathered here for a long time. So maybe you could start solving.”

  “Yes, to solve a crime,” Shawn started. “And not just any crime, but the worst kind of crime.”

  “We all know someone was murdered,” Lassiter said.

  “I’m talking about a theft,” Shawn said. “The theft of a young boy’s sense of wonder.”

  Over the course of their detective career, Gus had occasionally entertained the notion that they should cater Shawn’s denouements-at least serve a few light hors d’oeuvres, in case the summation ran long. But he was particularly glad there hadn’t been food served tonight, as there was little doubt it all would have rained down on them.

  Shawn persevered through the boos, hisses, and occasional obscenity. “Two decades ago, a small boy came to the Fortress of Magic, wanting only to be amazed and delighted. But instead of allowing him those few moments of, yes, magic, his father cruelly exposed its practitioners as tricksters, hoaxsters, and frauds, stealing that precious gift of enchantment away forever. And the author of that theft is standing among us right now,” he said, leveling the powerful finger of judgment at his father. “Henry Spencer, j’accuse.”

  “If you mean I told you the truth about these pho nies, you’re welcome,” Henry said, then noticed Rudge glaring at him. “Nothing personal.”

  Rudge gave him a conciliatory bow.

  “What you call the truth is nothing more than a fear of being tricked,” Shawn said, “a belief that if someone is holding the truth from you, it must be for nefarious purposes.”

  “Well, of cours
e it is,” Henry said.

  “And that’s exactly the attitude that sent me here in the first place,” Shawn said.

  Lassiter turned to Henry. “It was your idea for Shawn to come here in the first place? Gee, thanks.”

  “I was banned from the Fortress for exposing the truth,” Henry said.

  “Oh, come on, Dad,” Shawn said. “You were banned because you arrested the magician who was showing me card tricks for contributing to the delinquency of a minor.”

  “As if your delinquency needed any more contributions,” Henry said.

  “Hey!” The voice that rang out was so full of authority, everybody turned in its direction immediately. Major Voges didn’t have her gun out, but her bearing was so intimidating, she might as well have. “We’re not here to participate in your private psychodrama.”

  “See?” Lyle said. “I told you he was a psycho.”

  Shawn gave Hank a hand signal, and the boy hurled the superball at Lyle’s head.

  “Ow,” Lyle said as the ball zipped back into Hank’s hand.

  “See, they do sting,” Shawn said to Gus, then turned back to the audience. “This is exactly where you’re wrong, Major Voges. You are all here to participate in our private psychodrama. Because that was key to solving this mystery. You see, it was the cynicism my father imparted to me that kept me from realizing the truth. Now I know you’re all wondering, just how cynical is Henry Spencer?”

  If noes were bullets, Shawn and Gus would have been flopping on the stage like Bonnie and Clyde.

  “I’m glad you asked,” Shawn said quickly. “Here’s how cynical my father is. He looked at two friends, two old, dear, close friends, and saw something strange. I don’t know what sparked his suspicions, but he could tell there was something off about Bud’s engagement. And being the cynic that he is, he leapt to the conclusion that Lyle was cheating with Bud’s lovely fiancee, Savonia.”

  “Does this have anything to do with the case?” Gus whispered to Shawn.

  Shawn ignored him. “But he’d known these friends for far too long to confront either of them with his suspicion. So he arranged a bachelor party for Bud-but he booked it for the one place he knew he couldn’t possibly attend.”

  “How did you find that out?” Henry said.

  Shawn gave him a small smile. “And then he sent me. Do you know why?”

  “So he wouldn’t have to listen to you anymore?” Rudge called out to mutters of approval.

  “Because he knew he’d raised a cynic just like himself,” Shawn said. “And he knew that cynic would leap to the same conclusion he did. But without the encumbrance of years of friendship, he’d make the accusation.”

  “It’s not an accusation. It’s a fact, for God’s sake,” Henry said. “A blind idiot could see it. Or even my son.”

  “And I did,” Shawn said. “I saw exactly the same thing you saw, because I saw it through your prejudices. But once the prejudice was gone, I could see the truth.”

  “That’s great,” Lassiter said. “Glad we wrapped that one up. Let’s move on to the murder.”

  “And the truth wasn’t that Lyle was a bad friend,” Shawn said. “It was that Bud was a great one. Lyle’s wife has been institutionalized with Alzheimer’s for years. The marriage is long dead, but he can’t divorce her because she’ll lose her health insurance and be dumped on the street. Last year he met Savonia and fell in love, only to discover that her visa was running out and she was going to have to leave the country. Bud volunteered to marry her so she could get her green card and live with Lyle.”

  Everybody turned to stare at Bud and Lyle.

  “Is this true?” Henry said.

  “We couldn’t tell anyone because we were worried about the immigration people,” Bud said.

  Lyle threw his arms around Bud. “Isn’t he the greatest friend ever?”

  Shawn took another deep bow. “And with that, ladies and gentlemen, the opening act of this presentation is over. Part two will commence after a brief intermission.”

  Major Voges marched up to Lassiter and O’Hara. “This is a farce,” she said. “If you don’t arrest him, I will. And then I’m shutting this ridiculous charade down and taking that tank back to Washington.”

  “You can have the tank as soon as I’m done with it,” Shawn said. He signaled to Gus, who wheeled the airplane steps out from the wings and locked them into place. Shawn took the first three steps at a bound.

  “Stop that man!” Voges shouted, but no one moved. She lunged toward the stage, but O’Hara pulled her back.

  “Sorry, Major, but I missed the first show,” O’Hara said. “I’ve got to see this.”

  Shawn reached the top of the steps, then bent down and flipped the latch on the tank lid open, then slid it closed. He unlatched it again, then pulled the heavy steel lid up.

  “Get out of there!” Fleck said. “That belongs to my client.”

  “Magic belongs to all of us,” Shawn said. He gave another deep bow, then stepped off the platform into the tank.

  Shawn sunk down to the bottom, then bobbed back up. He floated midway in the tank, his cheeks puffed out with air.

  “Get him out of there,” Henry said, rushing toward the stage.

  Major Voges blocked his way. “No one touches the tank.”

  “That’s my son in there!” Henry said. “He’ll drown.”

  “Which is preferable to what will happen to him once he gets out,” Major Voges said.

  Henry shoved her out of the way and went to the stage, but before he could climb up, the water in the tank had changed. Before it had been perfectly still. Now it bubbled and frothed like a glass of cheap champagne. As Henry stared, he realized the bubbles were coming from his son’s body.

  Shawn raised his hands over his head, sending a storm of froth rising to the surface. As the bubbles flew from his fingertips, the crowd saw with a shock that the fingers were shrinking. No, dissolving . Within seconds, they were gone down to the first two knuckles, and quickly the hands were reduced to clublike stumps.

  Shawn lowered one deformed hand to touch his stomach, and immediately the bubbles began fizzing out of his abdomen. But they didn’t rise to the top of the tank. They spun around, as if caught in a whirlpool. And when they cleared, they had eaten a hole clear through Shawn’s midsection. Where moments before there had been a blue-checked flannel shirt over a white T, now there was a void. And it was growing in all directions, devouring his chest, his hips, his shoulders. His arms, eaten from both sides, fell off his body and dissolved into bubbles before they hit the tank floor. All that was left was the grinning head floating seven feet over the enormous black boots that still sat at the bottom of the tank.

  The bubbles were working on Shawn’s chin now. Before they could reach any higher, he opened his mouth as if to speak-or to scream. But what came out wasn’t just a blisteringly loud roaring sound. It was light-a blast of pure white light that lit up every corner of the showroom.

  Then the light went out, and the room was plunged into darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  When the houselights came back on, everyone was staring at the tank, stunned. Even Gus, who’d known what was going to happen, was rendered momentarily speechless by the spectacle.

  Henry broke the silence, turning savagely on Fleck. “Where’s my son?” he demanded. “What has your machine done to my son?”

  The showroom doors flew open and Shawn strolled in. “Was someone looking for me?”

  For one brief second, a look of relief washed over Henry’s face. But he managed to get his emotions under control quickly and replaced the relieved look with a scowl.

  A mournful cry came from the center of the room. “All my life I’ve been working at my craft,” Rudge wailed, “and this punk is able to duplicate the most amazing illusion ever performed without any effort at all.”

  “There was a little bit of effort,” Shawn said. “The backstage door weighs a ton.”

  “I knew it was all a ch
eap trick,” Jessica Higgenbotham spit. “There was no way P’tol P’kah wasn’t a complete fraud.”

  “How did you get out of the tank?” Lassiter said.

  “Look,” Shawn said, wringing out his shirt. No water dripped out of it. The cloth was completely dry. “I was never in it.”

  “But we saw you,” Detective O’Hara said.

  “Did you?” Shawn said. “Did you really?”

  “Yes, Shawn, we all did,” Henry said. “Do you want to explain now?”

  “Or do we have to beat it out of you?” Lassiter added hopefully.

  “Gus!” Shawn called. “Show them.”

  Gus went over to the tank and picked at the glass where it met the metal frame. Scraping at it with his fingernail, he pried back a thin sheet of clear plastic, much like the sticky protective wrapping on a new iPod screen.

  “Get away from that tank,” Major Voges commanded. “That information is classified.”

  “Then we promise not to tell anyone,” O’Hara said. “Go on, Shawn.”

  “It was Augie Balustrade who gave me the clue,” Shawn said. “Because he wasn’t a crook or a hustler, he really was devoted to his craft. And it personally offended him that P’tol P’kah was perverting it.”

  Gus stepped away from the tank. “That’s why he was clutching a TV remote when he died. To send us a message from beyond the grave.”

  “What message?” Lassiter said.

  “That P’tol P’kah was not only our favorite Martian; he was actually My Favorite Martian,” Shawn said. “A TV show about a fake alien.”

  Gus pulled the plastic sheeting off the glass so that it covered only the left half of the tank. Then he ran up the airplane stairs and fiddled with something on the lid. After a second, the thin plastic came alive with the image of Shawn splashing into the tank. The plain glass showed nothing but still water behind it.

  “Hey, Henry,” Bud shouted. “If you want to get me a wedding present to make up for being such a jerk, I’ll take one of those.”

  “If you flip the latch one way, the lid opens to reveal the water below,” Shawn said. “If you flip it again, a panel in the lid slides back and opens a chamber in the back of the tank. You drop down there and step out a hidden door when the lights go out.”