“You have to understand, they didn’t have computers in 1966, so their methods might sound a little primitive today,” Shawn said.
“Of course they had comp-” Gus started, but D-Bob shushed him furiously.
“Let the man speak!” D-Bob said.
“But the principle is the same,” Shawn said. “The traditional way of doing things is to take one pill that can tackle a particular kind of sickness-headache, stomachache, whatever. But in this other method the scientists sent a tiny spaceship filled with eenie-weenie doctors into the patient’s bloodstream. They weren’t dumb pills mindlessly attacking the one symptom they were made for. These valiant doctors could look for problems and take care of whatever they found.”
“That’s Fantastic Voyage,” Gus sputtered.
“Yes, it is fantastic,” D-Bob said. “What a mind this man has.”
“It’s a movie!”
“There was one trouble with this new technology,” Shawn said. “It was really hard to find scientists small enough to fit into a patient’s bloodstream. But with today’s computer technology, we don’t have to worry about that. We should devote this entire company’s resources to inventing a machine that will finally make scientists tiny! And that look like Raquel Welch!”
The crowd stared up at him, stunned. But D-Bob was back on his feet, clapping wildly. “Isn’t this man incredible?” he shouted to his employees. “Listen to all his ideas! You know, I’ve never done anything like this before, but I don’t think I have a choice.”
Gus felt his stomach drop to the floor. He couldn’t be sure what was going to happen next, but he knew it wasn’t going to be good.
“We were so incredibly lucky that we found Burton Guster to be our new president,” D-Bob said. “And now we’re even more fortunate. Because I am appointing Shawn Spencer to be Gus’ copresident!”
D-Bob thrust his arms in the air for applause. For a long moment, the silence was so great Gus began to wonder if he’d gone deaf. And then in the front row, a couple of executives started to clap. Slowly the applause rippled through the auditorium as one by one the employees of Benson Pharmaceuticals grabbed for this first chance to suck up to their new boss.
Gus took advantage of the noise to move close enough to Shawn to whisper in his ear. “What’s this all about?”
“It’s about Psych,” Shawn said.
“I left Psych,” Gus said.
“You left a detective agency,” Shawn said. “You can never leave Psych. Because Psych is you and me. That’s why I thought you’d taken this gig as an undercover assignment. But now I realize you’re serious about the whole corporate thing. So Psych is moving to the boardroom.”
Gus stared at him. “You’d do that? Seriously?”
“I think we’ve already seen how seriously I’m going to take it,” Shawn said. “But I’m doing it if it’s what you really want.”
Gus studied Shawn for several seconds, looking for any sign that he wasn’t completely sincere. Then he stepped to the front of the stage and raised his hands for quiet. The applause died down quickly.
“I want to thank you all for the warm reception you’ve given my new copresident,” Gus said. “But before we go any further, I think D-Bob should explain what’s really been going on the last couple of months.” He beckoned D-Bob to join him at the front of the stage.
“What’s really been going on,” D-Bob said, stretching the syllables out as long as he could while he tried to figure out what he was supposed to say.
“That you never really hired me as an executive,” Gus said. “That I am actually a detective working undercover to solve the murders of Sam Masterson, Jim Macoby, Mandy Jansen, and Steve Ecclesine. Although Ecclesine was still alive when we were hired.”
“We’re throwing that one in for free,” Shawn said.
There was a shocked gasp from most of the crowd. But in front, where the other executives sat, there was only a contented murmur and a few exclamations of “that explains it!”
“Umm, right, exactly,” D-Bob said. “The man you’ve known all this time as Burton ‘Gus’ Guster is actually…” He leaned in to whisper to Gus. “What’s your name again?”
“Burton Guster,” Gus said into the microphone. “But you can all call me Gus. And I’m sure you all know my partner Shawn Spencer, Santa Barbara’s premier psychic detective.”
Shawn bounded to the front of the stage as if the audience had erupted into cheers instead of another stunned silence. “My friends, we’ve got trouble right here at Benson Pharmaceuticals,” he shouted. “Trouble with a capital M and that rhymes with… Well, actually it doesn’t rhyme with anything useful right now, but if I come up with something I’ll get right back to you.”
Jerry Fellowes stood up in the crowd. “Is this really true, Gus?” he said. “That you never had any intention of helping with orphan drugs?”
Gus looked down at the stage, suddenly ashamed of the work he was leaving unfinished. Chanterelle put a comforting arm around her father’s shoulder.
“Who cares about the orphan drugs?” Lena Hollis shouted. “What’s this about murders?”
“And what’s with Santa Barbara’s premier psychic detective?” Vollman said. “Did we already run through all the phonies in San Francisco?”
“Other people are much more qualified than I am to take on the orphan drug problem,” Gus said. “Like you, Jerry. It’s time for you to step up.”
“It’s funny you should mention that,” Shawn said. “Well, not funny in the ha-ha way so much as the terrible, awful, bloody murderous way.”
“You can’t say my da had anything to do with those deaths!” Chanterelle would have leaped onto the stage if Jerry didn’t hold her back in her seat. “He’s not a killer.”
Shawn cocked his ear heavenward, then turned back to face her. “It’s kind of hard to understand, what with the accents coming from the great beyond, but I’m hearing a trio of Irish voices that disagree with you on that count.”
Jerry’s face flushed. “That was a long time ago,” he said. “I’m not that man anymore.”
“But you could be,” Shawn said. “With the proper encouragement.”
“No,” Jerry said.
“Just think about it for a minute,” Shawn said. “Let’s say you were working with one executive who really seemed excited about the whole thing. But every time he was supposed to push the issue with D-Bob, he canceled. And then he got himself roasted. Wouldn’t that make you step up?”
“No,” Jerry said. “I just deliver the mail.”
“Well, what if a new executive managed to talk D-Bob into actually addressing the issue, but Steve Ecclesine was trying to undercut him until someone sabotaged his window and he plunged to his death,” Shawn said. “Would that make you step up?”
“Why would it?” Jerry said.
“So I guess Mandy’s whole hanging herself in her cheerleader suit after breaking her promise to help didn’t motivate you either,” Shawn said.
“It broke my heart, is what it did,” Jerry said.
“That’s pretty much the way I saw it,” Shawn said. “My only question is why your daughter couldn’t figure that out.”
Chanterelle jumped to her feet. “You’re crazy,” she shouted. “These were all accidents. Why are we listening to this lunatic?”
“Couple of reasons,” Gus said. “First, because until I formally submit my resignation, I’m still the president of the company.”
“Copresident,” Shawn said.
“Copresident,” Gus agreed.
“And because we had some friends of ours show your picture around Santa Barbara,” Shawn said. “And you were identified several times as the one woman anyone saw Mandy Jansen with in the days before her death.”
Gus looked at Shawn, surprised. How long had he known?
“I may have visited Mandy,” Chanterelle said.
“Where you used your hypnotism skills,” Shawn said. “Although I suspect you might have supplemen
ted your natural powers with some of Benson’s finest mood-altering substances. I understand some of them disappear from the bloodstream almost immediately.”
“Then there’d be no evidence, would there?” Chanterelle said.
“I suppose even if we had your picture circulated around a certain High Sierra ski resort and you were identified as Sam Masterson’s date that day, that wouldn’t be evidence, either,” Shawn said.
“Did you do that?” Gus said.
“Wouldn’t matter if he did,” Chanterelle said. “No crime against skiing.”
“Unless you happened to give your ski partner a little nudge as he approached a tree at fifty miles per hour,” Gus said.
“If two people are skiing together, and one accidentally bumps into the other, that’s nothing more than a tragic accident,” Chanterelle said.
D-Bob glared down at her. “Even if it’s not a crime, this could be a very serious breach of company ethics,” he said.
“Then I quit,” Chanterelle said.
“Don’t be so hasty,” D-Bob said. “You are still a valued member of the team.”
Gus glared at him. “You are really the worst executive in history,” he said.
“All these people your father put his faith in, and they all let him down,” Shawn said. “Or they were going to let him down. You thought if you got them out of the way, Jerry would finally have to step up and become the man you needed him to be.”
“Whatever,” Chanterelle said.
“But if there was a new president and he promised Jerry he’d solve the orphan drugs problem, you knew that would be the end of it,” Shawn said. “Because this new president was an idiot who would always say the right thing but never get anything done. And your father would grow old and die, never seeing his dream realized.”
“An idiot?” Gus said.
“Go with me here,” Shawn said, then turned back to Chanterelle. “Unless, of course, he was so overwhelmed by the position that he killed himself the night of the swearing-in ceremony.”
“Wouldn’t that be a tragedy?” Chanterelle said.
“It does seem like the kind of thing we’d like to avoid,” Shawn said. “So I asked my friends to stop by your room on their way here.”
At the back of the room, the doors flew open and six uniformed police officers marched in. Detective Juliet O’Hara followed, holding up a plastic bag that held a piece of hotel stationery.
“Did you find it, Jules?” Shawn said.
“On her desk,” O’Hara said. “A suicide note written by Burton Guster.” She held up another Baggie, this containing a large plastic bottle. “And enough Benson-brand painkillers to make sure his suicide was successful.”
“You were going to kill me?” Gus said.
“It would be more oxygen for the rest of the planet,” Chanterelle said.
O’Hara motioned to one of the officers, who went over to Chanterelle and cuffed her hands behind her back.
Jerry looked at her mournfully. “This can’t be true,” he said. “You can’t have done this.”
“It was the only way.” She was near tears. “You knew it when you killed those three boys to stop the greater evil.”
“I’ve been tortured by that all my life,” he said gently. “I don’t want the same for you.”
“It was your moment of greatness,” she said, the tears now flowing freely down her cheek. “When you had the chance to make a real difference in the world and you took it.”
“I killed my friends,” Jerry said.
“Yes, you did-you yourself,” Chanterelle said. “You didn’t wait around hoping that someone else was going to act in your place. You saw the need and you did what had to be done.”
“At too great a cost,” Jerry said.
“At the right cost,” Chanterelle said. “You were born to make a difference in this world. You always said so. But you trusted in other people to ensure your legacy. I couldn’t let you do that.”
“Really?” Shawn said. “All this time you wanted your father to act, so you did what you thought he’d do if he cared enough? I think I see a flaw in that logic.”
Jerry took his daughter by the shoulders. “I stayed in this job because it’s all I wanted from my life,” he said. “I loved my coworkers, even the ones who were weaker than they wanted to be. Did you really kill poor Mandy?”
“She said she was a player, but she was really just a cheerleader,” Chanterelle said. “So once she was properly suggestible I had her put on that old uniform to tell the world.”
“Just a cheerleader?” O’Hara said. “You mean, like the one who’s arresting you for murder?”
She signaled the officer, who led Chanterelle out of the room.
Jerry Fellowes collapsed in his chair and sank his head in his hands. Gus wanted to go to him, but within seconds the old mailman was surrounded by his colleagues, who gathered around to offer him support.
Shawn clapped Gus on the back. “See?” he said. “That’s much more fun than a board meeting.”
“Except for the part where we destroyed poor Jerry’s life,” Gus said.
“Because he would be so much happier if his daughter kept on killing people,” Shawn said. “Really?”
Gus felt a weight lifting off his shoulders. “I guess it really isn’t all about us, is it?” he said.
“Only the good parts,” Shawn said.
They were walking toward the exit when a thought hit Gus. “You knew Chanterelle was the killer all along?”
“I don’t know that I’d say all along…”
“But you knew when you offered to join me as an executive,” Gus said. “You knew she was going to murder me.”
“It was kind of predictable,” Shawn said.
“And if I hadn’t chosen to expose the killer here, what were you going to do about it?”
“Take your office,” Shawn said. “Now let’s go order room service before D-Bob closes our account here.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
“Why do we have to wear these ridiculous getups?”
Lassiter said, shrugging into the long, black leather duster. “Blue is the only uniform I’ve ever wanted.”
Shawn and Gus stood with Lassiter and O’Hara outside the mall, each putting on one of the dusters Shawn had borrowed from a local leather-goods shop in exchange for help catching a frequent shoplifter.
“I’ve always thought you’d look better in orange, Lassie,” Shawn said. “But if you want to come along, this is tonight’s dress code.”
“I don’t want to come along,” Lassiter said. “How many times do I have to say this whole thing is stupid?”
Gus didn’t have an answer for him, although he guessed Lassie had mentioned this at least a dozen times already.
The first had been at the police station, where Shawn and Gus were debriefing the detectives on the undercover operation they’d just completed at Benson Pharmaceuticals.
“I have to say, I’m really impressed,” O’Hara said. “I saw Gus in San Francisco a couple of times and I was completely convinced he was for real.”
“Not me,” Lassiter growled.
“The trick is to convince yourself first,” Gus said. “There were actually times when I forgot I wasn’t really starting a new life as a corporate chieftain.”
“And you were onto Chanterelle all along?” O’Hara said.
Shawn and Gus exchanged a look. “There was a pool of suspects at first,” Gus said. “It was Shawn who finally put it all together.”
“Only after Gus laid out the entire case,” Shawn said. “Although with a slightly different solution.”
“It was a joint effort,” Gus said.
“Because that’s the way we roll,” Shawn said.
“So who was your client?” Lassiter said, finishing up his report.
Gus froze. He’d almost convinced himself that he really had been undercover all the time he was at Benson, but the mention of a client reminded him how this had all really sta
rted.
“It was Jules, of course,” Shawn said. “She asked for help with Mandy Jansen’s murder.”
“I just meant a consultation,” O’Hara said. “I never dreamed you’d go that far.”
“No one ever does,” Shawn said. “And now there’s a little matter of the favor you were going to do in return.”
Which was how the four of them ended up on State Street in the middle of the night, wearing dusters.
“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” Lassiter said.
Shawn slapped a rifle into his hands. “You’ve got to try,” he said. “Suspension of disbelief is what it’s all about. We ready?”
Gus looked around. Each of them was armed with a rifle. “Let’s go,” he said.
“Yeah, why not?” O’Hara said.
They moved together as one, stalking down the deserted street.
“That one’s mine,” Shawn said, pointing into a doorway at a sleeping homeless man. He raised his gun and fired. The man’s chest erupted in red.
“I got one!” Gus said, leveling his rifle at a skinny man in a camo jacket, running across the street. He pulled the trigger and the man fell, a red blotch across his chest.
“It’s going to get harder now,” Shawn said, pointing at the homeless people scurrying away from them. “They’re on the run.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Lassiter said, getting off a shot at a bearded man asleep on a bus bench and watching him twitch as his chest was covered in red.
“Up to you, Jules,” Shawn said.
“Got it.” She stepped up to a doorway and with her foot nudged the form sleeping there. “It’s over.”
The form rolled over and saw the rifle barrel pointing down at him. “Officer?” Frank said in horror. “I thought we were friends.”
“Friends don’t let friends sleep on the street,” O’Hara said. “Rather see you dead. So would Morton.”
Frank scurried back in horror as far as he could, then cringed in terror as O’Hara’s finger tightened on the trigger.
“Stop! Stop!”
The voice was coming from another doorway. Shawn and Gus whirled, their rifles raised, as a scrawny man with a thick beard and bad sunburn staggered toward them. He wore a filthy Tommy Bahama Hawaiian shirt, now mostly rags, and what were once expensive designer jeans.
Mind-Altering Murder p-5 Page 24
