The Call of the Mild

by William Rabkin

  “Dangerous!”

  “You’ve been on the case less than one day and you’ve already had two guns pointed at you,” Henry said. “At some point, one of those is going to go off.”

  “Do you realize how many murderers I’ve gone up against?” Shawn demanded. “I went face-to-face with a serial killer who’d been terrorizing Santa Barbara for years when you were on the force, and I won.”

  “And I’m always pleased to read about your exploits in the paper,” Henry said. “Well, most of the time, anyway.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” Shawn said. “Just think of this as getting the paper a day early. Except if I were you I wouldn’t use this information for my own personal gain, like betting on horse races or anything, because that never works out well.”

  “I think that’s only if some strange metaphysical force sends you the paper so you can use it to protect innocent people from fates they don’t deserve,” Gus said.

  “It’s fair to say that I’m as strange a metaphysical force as any of us is going to see,” Shawn said. “So is this settled? We’ll work the case from different sides: You help the police, and Gus and I will do it the smart way. We’ll call you for the summation.”

  Shawn headed for the door. At least he would have headed for the door if there had been an inch of space between Henry and the bed for him to squeeze through. But there wasn’t, and Henry didn’t move out of his way.

  “I told you, it’s not negotiable,” Henry said.

  “Why?”

  Henry’s hard grimace softened. “When you were little, I used to worry about you all the time. When you missed curfew, when you slipped out your window in the middle of the night, when you were just a few minutes late for dinner, my heart broke at the thought that something might have happened to you.”

  “You certainly hid it well,” Shawn said. “Under all that yelling and nagging.”

  “Do you really think that was hiding it?” Henry said. “The point is, once you moved out of the house, I stopped worrying.”

  “That was a mistake,” Shawn said. “What I was doing then was much worse than anything I did while I lived with you.”

  “I knew that,” Henry said. “But you were an adult. It wasn’t my job to worry like that anymore, so I stopped. It’s the same with your detective work. As long as I don’t know about it until you’ve finished a case, it’s none of my concern. But if I have to watch you putting yourself in danger, it will be just like you’re twelve years old again. And I don’t think anyone wants that.”

  “Not if you’re going to make me go to bed at eight thirty,” Shawn said. “I’m still trying to see the second half of the A-Teamepisode where they went to Africa. They were caught by cannibals and put in a cauldron over a fire, but before I could find out what happened to them, you unplugged the TV and turned off the lights. For all I know they were eaten decades ago.”

  “It turned out the cannibals weren’t really cannibals,” Gus said. “It was all a plot by—”

  “Don’t tell me!” Shawn said.

  “The episode’s been on DVD for five years,” Gus said. “If you cared that much, you could have seen it a hundred times by now.”

  “It’s not the same,” Shawn said. “If there isn’t at least one commercial with Jacko urging me to knock a battery off his shoulder, I can’t watch it.”

  “And I can’t watch you putting yourself in danger,” Henry said.

  “It’s as simple as that.”

  Shawn shot Gus a pleading look over Henry’s shoulder. Gus shrugged helplessly. Shawn turned back to Henry. “I’ve got to do this,” he said. “Please.”

  “It’s a hard lesson to learn and a hard way to learn it, but you don’t owe this woman anything, son,” Henry said. “She asked you to find her necklace. You did. What happens in the rest of her life—even her death—is simply none of your business.”

  “She was our client,” Shawn said. “When a man’s client is killed, he’s supposed to do something about it. It doesn’t make any difference what you thought of her. She was your client and you’re supposed to do something about it. ‘And it happens we’re in the detective business. When one of your organization gets killed, it’s bad business to let the killer get away with it, bad all around, bad for every detective everywhere.’ ”

  For a moment Henry seemed impressed by Shawn’s passion for the profession. But something about the words nagged at him.

  “ ‘Partner,’ ” Henry said as the memory fell into place.

  “Yes!” Shawn said. “We’ll be partners.”

  “No,” Henry said. “It’s ‘when a man’s partner is killed he’s supposed to do something about it.’ ”

  “Is that what’s bothering you?” Shawn said. “Because I promise if Gus is killed I’ll stick with that case, too.”

  “Thanks,” Gus said. “Really means a lot.”

  “It’s from The Maltese Falcon,” Henry said. “You want me to let you stay on this case because of some speech by a fictional detective.”

  “I can’t think of a better reason, can you?”

  “No, and that’s the point,” Henry said. “Now, if you’re not going to step off this case, there’s a dentist, a lawyer, and a real estate developer who can’t finish their song until I play my drum solo.”

  Henry took the two steps back to the cabin door.

  “You win,” Shawn said. “We’re off this case.”

  “Not good enough,” Henry said, slipping out into the dimming Ojai sunlight. “Too much wiggle room.”

  “I promise that as long as you are working with Lassiter on this case that neither Gus nor I will do anything to investigate, explore, probe, scrutinize, deconstruct, interrogate, or in any other way examine the circumstances surrounding the violent slaying of our former client, the late Ellen Svaco,” Shawn said.

  For a moment Henry looked convinced. Gus was almost convinced himself. There were only two ways he could see for Shawn to weasel out of the promise, which was at least three fewer than Shawn usually built into such a sentence.

  “I accept,” Henry said after brief consideration.

  “Excellent,” Shawn said.

  “Except for two things,” Henry said. “The deal is binding for as long as I’m on the case, no matter what level of involvement or noninvolvement Carlton Lassiter shares in it. And since we don’t have precise information at this moment on the exact manner of this woman’s death, you will apply the same interdiction to any consideration of any eventuality that led to it, violent or not.”

  Gus was impressed. These were two of Shawn’s best weasels, and Henry had spotted both of them. No wonder Shawn hadn’t been able to talk himself out of a grounding since he turned eleven.

  But Shawn seemed to be taking his defeat in stride. He put out his hand for his father to shake. “You really won’t get fooled again,” he said. “They need you at the police station in the morning.”

  Henry took his hand. “We’ll do right by you, son.”

  “Just make sure you change first.”

  Henry glanced down at his sweat-soaked rock and roll clothes. “I don’t know,” he said, “I’m getting to like this look.”

  The cabin door banged shut and Henry was gone. Gus moved out of his corner, finally feeling free to fill his lungs more than halfway. “What do you want to do now?” he said. “Because if you don’t have any plans, there’s a bookstore in town with a tree growing in the middle of it. I’ve always wanted to see that.”

  Shawn stared at him as if he’d suggested they pass the afternoon at a Wiggles performance. “Are you kidding?” he said. “We’ve got work to do.”

  “On what?”

  “On our case.”

  Gus replayed the last few minutes of the conversation in his head. Shawn’s promise seemed as unweaselable as the nondisclosure agreement Gus’ pharmaceuticals employer had made him sign before they admitted to him that there really was no such thing as restless elbow syndrome and that the only reason they’d
sold so much of their drug to treat the disease was a long series of “seminars” in Hawaii they’d paid doctors to attend.

  “You just promised your father that we wouldn’t have anything to do with Ellen Svaco’s murder,” Gus said.

  “And we won’t,” Shawn said.

  “But that was our case,” Shawn said.

  “Never was,” Shawn said. “No one hired us to investigate that.”

  “Then what?”

  “Ellen Svaco hired us to get her necklace back,” Shawn said. “That’s the case we’re working on.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gus and Shawn drove in silence back to the Psych offices. Gus assumed Shawn was lost in thought about how to find whoever was behind the theft of the necklace. But he couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen when Henry found out that he and Shawn were still working on the case. Because, despite Shawn’s rationalizations, Gus knew they were deliberately flouting the agreement.

  It wasn’t until they were back in the office and Shawn was firing up the computer that Gus raised the point. “If your dad finds out that we’re working on this case, he’s going to be really mad.”

  Shawn didn’t even look up from the computer. “I already told you; it’s not the same case.”

  “Yes, as weasels go, this is as close to a ten as you’ve ever come,” Gus said. “But we both know that’s only going to make him even madder. All I’m saying is let’s make sure we stay out of the way of the official investigation.”

  “We will be out of their way,” Shawn said. “Because Lassiter will be running his investigation his way and we’ll be doing ours the right way. Odds are we’ll never cross paths. Now come help me hack into the police department’s computer.”

  “Shawn . . .”

  “Okay, okay,” Shawn said. “It’s not like we’d learn anything that way, except that Lassie hasn’t won a game of solitaire in five years. What I really need you to do is to hack into the computers of the Descanso Gardens lost-and-found department. If we’re lucky they have a camera positioned above the booth to record the face of anyone dropping off or claiming an item.”

  That was a task Gus didn’t mind tackling. Unfortunately there was one small problem he couldn’t solve.

  “It seems that the Descanso Gardens lost-and-found department doesn’t have a computer,” Gus said after some time of fruitless searching. “Or, if they do, it’s not online.”

  “How about the snack bar?” Shawn said. “Can you get into their computer?”

  “Why?”

  “I want to know if they’ve restocked their ice-cream sandwiches yet,” Shawn said. “If we’re going to have to schlep all the way down there again, I want to know there’s at least going to be a tasty treat at the finish line.”

  Gus dropped into a guest chair. “This is crazy.”

  “I know, I know,” Shawn said. “It’s much cheaper to buy our own ice-cream sandwiches at the supermarket and bring them with us, instead of paying the ridiculous markup they charge at tourist traps like Descanso. But even if we bring a cold bag, they’re still going to be pretty melty by the time we get to La Canada.”

  “I don’t understand why we’re going to La Canada in the first place,” Gus said. “Do you really think the killer mime is still out there, waiting for someone else to walk by with a necklace for him to steal?”

  Shawn was about to respond, but just before the first word left his mouth he cut it off.

  “What?” Gus said.

  “You’re right,” Shawn said. “Why La Canada?”

  “Well,” Gus said, suddenly wondering if he’d been too hasty, as he always did when someone actually took his advice. “There might have been someone who saw the mime and can help us identify him. Better yet, we could get the names of all the people who paid their admission with credit cards that day, track them down, and see if they took any pictures that have the mime in them.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Shawn said. “Obviously we’d go to La Canada because that’s where the crime happened. The question is why did it happen there?”

  “Because that’s where the necklace was?”

  Shawn let out a deep sigh. “I’m going to try this one more time,” he said.

  “Why?” Gus said.

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you going to try one more time?” Gus said. “Why are you going to drop one more vaguely suggestive clue phrased as an open-ended question? Why don’t you just come out and say what you’re thinking?”

  “It’s called the Socratic method,” Shawn said. “It’s a form of teaching that involves asking questions to stimulate thought and debate. Although why Professor Kingsfield would name an entire method after some obscure alternative rock band from New Jersey is beyond me. Why are you staring at me?”

  Gus was staring at Shawn—staring with a mixture of awe and horror. “How is this possible?” he said finally.

  “What’s that?”

  “How can one body contain such a mixture of arcane knowledge and sheer ignorance?” Gus said.

  “That’s what they say about the Internet, and it’s doing all right,” Shawn said. “Didn’t you have a point a while back?”

  “I didn’t have a point,” Gus said. “I was hoping that you did, and if that was indeed the case you would share it with me rather than asking a bunch of rhetorical questions.”

  “Then how will you ever leave here thinking like a lawyer?” Shawn said.

  “I’m about to leave here thinking like a pharmaceuticals salesman,” Gus said. “Not to mention a former detective.”

  “Okay, okay,” Shawn said. “Let’s work this through together.”

  “You already worked it through on your own,” Gus said. “Just tell me so we can get on with our lives.”

  “Just tell you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Without any questions at all?” Shawn looked troubled.

  “I’m sure you can handle it.”

  “I can’t say I share your confidence, but I’ll try,” Shawn said. He took a breath. “Okay, here’s what I was getting at. The backstory, if you will. All the stuff that happened before we got involved. Some of which took place in La Canada. The question is—”

  “Not an appropriate part of speech for this conversation,” Gus said.

  Shawn glared at him. “You’re supposed to be my sounding board.”

  “I’m supposed to be your partner,” Gus said. “You treat me as your sounding board. You say things to me so you can hear them echoed back to you louder.”

  “The sounding board is a vital part of any stringed instrument,” Shawn said. “It doesn’t matter how brilliant a fiddler is if you can’t hear him because his violin doesn’t have an f-hole.”

  “I’m tired of being the f-hole in this partnership,” Gus said.

  “Now, give.”

  Shawn fidgeted in his chair. He stood up and crossed the room, then crossed back. “Okay, here’s how I see it,” he finally said. “There was a locket.”

  “With you so far.”

  “Someone had that locket.” Shawn grimaced. “And then that locket . . . Can’t I just use a couple of rhetorical questions here if I promise not to wait for an answer?”

  Gus gave him a stony stare. “Keep going.”

  “The someone who had that locket was supposed to pass it on to Ellen Svaco for reasons we don’t know,” Shawn said.

  “The someone brought it to La Canada and dropped it off at the Descanso Gardens lost and found.”

  “But why come to La Canada in the first place?” Gus said.

  “Why not come straight to Santa Barbara if it was meant for Ellen Svaco?”

  “Aha!” Shawn leveled an accusatory finger at Gus. “Now you’re doing it.”

  “Yes, but my question was sincere,” Gus said. “I wasn’t laying a trap so I could demonstrate the superiority of my thinking.”

  “Is that really what you think I do?”

  “That’s a question,” Gus said.r />
  “You can’t solve a mystery without asking questions,” Shawn said. “Because the solution to any puzzle lies in the correct phrasing of the problem. If you don’t pose the right questions, you can never reach the right answers. So when I throw my questions at you, it’s not a challenge to your intelligence. It’s me trying to frame the case in the proper context.”

  Gus thought this over, then let out a sigh. “I’m going to regret this, but go ahead.”

  Shawn beamed. “Okay, first question: Why was the locket in La Canada?”

  Gus waited. Shawn drummed his fingers on the desk. Tapped his feet on the chair leg. Cleared his throat. “You need to answer,” he said.

  “Why?” Gus said. “If this is an exercise in the proper framing of the puzzle, why do you need me to answer? Just keep on with the questions.”

  Shawn stared down at the desk. “I need you to say something stupid.”

  “Uh-uh,” Gus said.

  “It doesn’t mean I think you’re stupid,” Shawn said quickly.

  “But if you don’t give me the wrong answer, I don’t think I can come up with the right one.”

  “What if I give you the right answer?”

  “Okay,” Shawn said. “What if?”

  “Are you saying I never come up with the right answer?” Gus demanded.

  “That’s not to say that it couldn’t happen,” Shawn said.

  “That would be like saying Jay Leno will never tell a funny joke.”

  Gus glared at him. “What if I give you the right answer at this very moment?”

  “Then I will give you all the credit for solving the case,” Shawn said. “I will put your name on the door. I will tell people you’re my partner and not my assistant even when you’re not in the room.”

  Gus decided to let this pass. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s start with the locket. Describe what you saw.”

  Shawn closed his eyes and thought back. The locket was a simple gold-plated heart on a chain. It was clearly old, as the plating had rubbed off in one spot, but so cheap it would never be considered an antique. Inside it were facing pictures of two homely people, hand-cropped badly enough so that some of the green plastic backing showed behind them.