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Chapter Text

March 1983...

“Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!” the six-year old energetic bundle named Shawn came hurdling right towards his mother. Dr. Madeleine Spencer barely had time to prepare before her son all but crashed into her.

“Hey Goose!” She smiled, giving him a nice big 'hello' hug. His eyes were bright, and she noticed a smudge of chocolate at the corner of his mouth. The doctor looked up, and saw the most likely culprit not far behind him.

Jean Caiman--Jeanie to most people--closed the door behind her energetic nephew, and greeted her older sister with a quick smile. She lived a little over an hour away in Los Angeles, but with their busy work schedules, they rarely had time to see each other. While in town to do such that, Maddie had asked her sister to spend the afternoon with Shawn, as the police psychiatrist had to prepare for an upcoming conference, and Henry was off on a long stakeout.

While his aunt put her purse down and toed her shoes off by the door, Shawn was busy telling his mom about everything they did. “Aunt Jeanie took me to the park, I played on the swings with Gus, and then--and then she took us out for ice cream!”

“Ice cream? That sounds great.” Maddie smiled, while inside she gave a small sigh. Shawn and sugar was rarely a good combination, especially right before dinner.

“Which was nice, ‘specially cause she wouldn’t share any of her candy.” The boy shared.

Maddie’s brow furrowed. “What candy?”

“Her special candy. That she keeps in her purse.”

Cue the moment where Maddie figured out what Shawn was talking about. And it wasn’t candy. The two sisters shared a look over the little boy’s head, Jeanie giving one that seemed half apologetic, and half desperate.

Maddie smiled and looked back at her son. “Why don’t you go get some of you and Gus’ drawings from your room, Shawn? I’m sure Aunt Jeanie would love to see them.”

“Okay!” the boy leaped up, and practically stomped his way upstairs in his excitement.

“I’m sorry,” Jeanie apologized, fidgeting with her hands.“He found them in my purse and I didn’t know what to say and I really, really didn’t want to explain it so I just...took him out for ice cream.”

“Jeanie, it’s fine.” The psychiatrist assured, placing a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “I don’t expect you to try and explain antidepressants to my six-year-old. I’m just glad that you’ve found one that works. You’ve been going to therapy too, right?”

A small smile and a roll of her eyes, Jeanie stepped away to grab something from the fridge. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Mads. I’m doing fine. You seriously worry too much.”

 Santa Barbara Herald

Obituaries

Jean S. Caiman, age 29, died unexpectedly on Monday, October 17th, 1983 while vacationing in Santa Barbara. She is survived by her sister, Madeleine Spencer, brother-in-law Henry, and nephew Shawn. Funerary services will be held at St. John’s Catholic Church, officiated by Father Peter Westley...

Chapter Text

January, 2009

Funny, some of the things that you hadn’t thought about in years.

Of course, if you were Henry Spencer, former detective of the SBPD, there were a lot of things you’d make a point too think about as little as you could. Lots of really, really bad things, things that forced you to see humanity at its absolute worst. But luckily, it wasn’t things quite like that.

Like finding a box with Shawn’s baby blanket and toys and remembering the once upon a time, he and Maddie had thought that they’d have a house full of little ones running around. Maybe then he’d have more people to call to help him clean out his attic, instead of his one brilliant but lazy offspring who seemed practically allergic to hard work sometimes.

Yes, Henry Spencer was cleaning out his attic. It was after the holidays, and he realized it was time to work on some of the things he’d been avoiding. No, not emotional issues. He had no emotional issues, thank-you-very-much. He just wanted to do some cleaning and had hoped his son would have helped him with that.

But no. Shawn had claimed to have an actual meeting with a client that afternoon, and Henry surprised himself by not immediately thinking it was an excuse. As low as he still thought of Shawn’s private detective agency, the kid had stuck with it and some people in Santa Barbara had started going to the “psychic” for help. Suckers and crackpots if you’d ask him, but suckers and crackpots who paid.

As part of the process of cleaning them out, Henry, of course, had to check the boxes to see what was inside and whether or not he wanted to keep it. One such box actually surprised him by its contents. No, it wasn’t the Playboys Shawn had stashed up here when he was 15 and too hormonal to realize how degrading those magazines actually were towards women. (Besides Henry found those barely a month later, and punished the teenager by making him attend a lecture on feminist theory at the local university.)

Back to the point. What he found was actually pretty simple. It was a birthday card, stashed in an envelope on top of a box containing some old psychiatry reference books that he guessed Maddie never got around to taking or throwing away.

The card probably would have met the same fate, but tucked inside of it were photographs from Maddie’s birthday party that year. He remembered the day well enough, Shawn had made his mother a little scribbled birthday card in the morning and that night, the couple went out and celebrated with a few of their friends. The photos showed the group of them at a local bar. There was Maddie, some of his old coworkers, some of her old coworkers, Henry himself and--

Jeanie.

The sisters were at a table together, smiling as they posed for the camera. Standing right next to each other, their similarities were pretty clear. Jeanie and Maddie had similar hair colors (blonde), eye colors (blue), and smiles. Their noses were a bit different, and Jeanie was a bit lankier than her older sister, but they really had more in common than they didn’t.

Yeah, having both a sister and law and a wife with tonal eidetic memories made winning any sort of argument an uphill battle. But he’d actually really liked Jeanie. (Liked her more than his own irresponsible jackass of a little brother, but loved her just as much.) She was spunky, had a smart mouth, and could drive him up the wall--him being a cop and her being a paralegal didn’t exactly lead to peace and harmony--but they were family.

The card itself was store-bought, simple thick cardstock with a picture of a glass of wine on the front and the directive: “Let’s Celebrate!”. The inside was blank, so the sender would have to write a personal note.

Here’s to another trip around the sun, and a happy, happy birthday to my big sister!

Love, Jeanie

Henry grimaced, suddenly glad that Shawn wasn’t here. This was the last birthday party that Maddie had ever had with her sister, and the last time either of them had seen her alive.

Anyways, no use wallowing in old memories. There was work to be done. He set the card and photographs down and reached for the next box. Unfortunately, the moment Henry lifted it up, the contents came spilling out the bottom. Papers and manilla folders spewed out into a heap onto his attic floor.

Great, just...great. Rubbing his eyes, the man knelt down and started to try and put things back together.

As luck would have it, this had been the box full of his old case files, and the first one he grabbed was the last one that he wanted to see.

The Night of October 16th, 1983

It was late, and it was clear that Maddie Spencer was exhausted. She had driven back home all the way from San Francisco, and the day of work plus the long car ride had sapped most of the energy out of her.

Which was why the sight of her husband there, waiting up for her in the kitchen, was a nice thing to find. Even if he had fallen asleep.

Knowing how much his neck would ache in the morning, Maddie gently shook his shoulder. “Hey handsome.”

The cop gave a sharp inhale and shot up in his chair. Seeing that it was his wife, and not a sargent catching him sleeping on the job, Henry smiled and greeted her with a: “Hey beautiful.” He rolled his shoulders, already feeling the crick in his neck.

“How’s Shawn, is he still up?”

“No, no I got him to go to sleep. He wanted to wait up for you but…”

“I’ll see him in the morning,” she yawned, hung up her keys and glanced at their answering machine. “Did someone call…?”

“Hm?” He’d honestly half-forgotten about that. “Oh, right. We were mid-bedtime story and I decided to just let it drop to voicemail.”

Maddie hummed in agreement, and seemed to just press the button automatically rather than any actual desire to hear what was on it.

Maddie? It’s me, Jeanie. I’m sorry, I know it’s late and I know it’s been awhile but I really, really need to talk to you. It’s important. Please call me back.

The machine beeped, and Maddie slumped against the wall, running a hand over her face. Her sister sounded upset about something. Not screaming, or crying just...upset. After a moment to steel herself, the psychiatrist reached for the telephone.

Henry sat up. “Maddie, don’t.”

“No, no, I should--”

“Hey,” he gently took the phone from her hand. “It’s late, you’re practically dead on your feet. You’re not much help if you can barely keep your eyes open. I’m sure whatever it is can probably wait until morning.”

“You’re right, you’re right…” she trailed off. Henry placed the phone back on the receiver, and was soon to follow her upstairs to bed.

He’d regret that decision for the rest of his life.

Jeanie had died sometime between midnight and 1am, October 17th, 1983. Her body had been found by a beachside jogger around 6am.

Neither one of them had known she was even in Santa Barbara. Turns out, she’d been living at a small rental on the southern edge of town for the past few weeks. Nice little place, isolated, had a great cliffside view of the ocean. (High enough that if you, say, jumped off the edge of the cliff, you’d die immediately.)

Turns out, there were a lot of things going on that they didn’t know.

“When was the last time you talked to your sister?” They were in the SBPD conference room--Maddie, himself, and Captian Brett Connors, who was asking the questions. Detectives Carp and Atwater were out in the field chasing down leads. They were still in the vital 48 hours of a police investigation. Henry had been barred from it, of course, it was a clear conflict of interest and he had his wife and son to think about.

“She--she called me two months ago. Just to check in, see how things were going.”

“How did she sound?”

“She sounded fine. Business as usual, busy with work...we both were, but what else was new.” Maddie sniffled, her hands wringing the kleenex.

A pensive look went over the Captain’s face. “We called the law firm. Maddie, Henry, she lost her job six months ago. Lay offs, and as a paralegal she was low enough on the ladder to be let go.”

The couple shared a look. “She never said anything like that. She knew she could have come to us if she was having money troubles or finding a job…right?”

“She was stubborn, but she wasn’t stupid. Jeanie would have talked to us if she was having serious trouble. Maybe she got a job somewhere else, closer to home.”

Brett shook his head. “Not as far as we can tell right now.”

“What about the boyfriend?” Henry added. “She has a boyfriend, Ed...something.”

“Ed Beauchamp.” Maddie informed. “She...brought him over once, for a barbeque. But they broke up. Back in...February, I think.” Oh. That had been news to Henry, but as he didn’t really concern himself with his sister in law’s dating life, it wasn’t so shocking that he didn’t know. (He should have known, should have paid more attention, should have picked up the phone...)

“Before she lost her job,” Brett agrees. “But, that’s not all. We talked to the therapist as well but...he hasn’t seen Jeanie in months.”

The nausea that had been rolling in Henry’s gut starts to crawl its way up his throat. His wife doesn’t look much better.

They got the full answer two weeks later.

“I’m sorry, Henry.” Brett placed a hand on his shoulder, “but between the note and the coroner’s findings, even I can’t find anything that suggests this isn’t a suicide.” And Brett Connors was never a man to take the easy answer.

“I--Oh God,” Maddie looked out into the bullpen. Henry’s partner Lou was keeping an eye on their son, talking animatedly at the six-year old about something or other. “Oh God, what are we going to tell Shawn?”

A woman with a history of depression loses her job, stops taking her meds, stops going to her therapist, doesn’t say anything to her family for months... Even without the suicide note, everything had pointed towards her going over that cliff voluntarily. The coroner’s report had really only been the final nail.

“I should have seen it,” Maddie cries into his shirt. “I should have heard it I should have--oh God I should have done something!”

They both should have seen it. Both the police officer and the psychiatrist knew about Jeanie’s struggles, and the voicemail was about as clear a cry for help that you could get without the woman outright saying ‘i’m going to commit suicide please talk to me’.

Henry continued to try and put things back in order. The detective had told himself he’d done everything he could. That the other detectives--his brothers on the force--had done a thorough job. He’d even made a secret copy of the case file to see for himself, to see if they had missed anything.

But was hard to feel like anything but a failure when your wife is sobbing into your shirt, forced to bury her little sister, and your son is looking up at your with eyes searching for answers and you can’t even give him the truth. The only time that ever came close was when after the last box was packed and the final door slammed shut, Henry was left with an empty house and the realization that the future he’d dreamed of with his family was well and truly gone.

He picked up the copy of the suicide note last.

I’m so sorry, but I’m not strong enough. It’s all too much and I just can’t do it anymore.

--Jeanie

He should throw it out. He knew he should probably throw it out, as it was only probably going to sit somewhere else gathering dust...but that didn’t feel right, somehow. So, with a sigh, Henry placed the file next to the old birthday card, and set out trying to organize the rest of the case files. But the moment he did, something tickled the back at the back of his mind. Something...odd.

He turned, and stared at the closed case file and the birthday card.

Hold on a second... he took out the copy of the suicide note, and opened up the birthday card to Jeanie’s simple message. His eyes flicked back and forth between the two, the furrow in his brow growing.

The handwriting didn’t match.

It was the little things, like the loops on the y’s and the angle she crossed her t’s. It was subtle, and if Henry Spencer wasn’t who he was, and didn’t have another copy of Jeanie’s handwriting next to him, he probably wouldn’t have noticed. But he was Henry Spencer, and Henry Spencer noticed that something was wrong.

He was a detective, and a damn good one. Good detectives don’t fly off the handle at the first thing that seemed off, but they don’t just ignore evidence either. He dug through more boxes. 

In the box containing the old psychiatric books was one that Jeanie had gifted to Maddie. Another quick birthday message written on the inside cover.

The handwriting didn’t match.

Entries in Shawn’s baby book--as his godmother, Jeanie had filled a few of them out for them.

The handwriting didn’t match.

A few more birthday/various holiday cards.

The handwriting didn’t match.

Two and a half hours later, Henry had all the evidence he’d found in front of him on his office desk, along with a magnifying glass and a book on graphology. His eyes didn't appreciate the strain, but he really, really didn’t care. Not when he was now absolutely, without a doubt sure that the handwriting didn’t match.

So Henry Spencer did what he should have done twenty-five years ago, and picked up the phone.

“This is Henry Spencer, I need to talk to Chief Vick.”

Chapter Text

It was another beautiful day in Santa Barbara, California. The sun was shining, the air was crisp and cool without being sharp, and Burton “Gus” Guster was sure if there were any birds around, they’d be chirping. Life was good for the pharmaceutical sales rep slash private detective. He’d had a bunch of success on his route, and was still riding a bit of a high from solving the Shabby the Sea Lion case a few days ago.

Well, okay, Shawn was the one who technically solved it, but Gus was the one who tricked him into going to the funeral. The two best friends were on a bit of a snack break that afternoon, and taking their time walking back to the office from the peanut cart as they enjoyed the lovely weather.

“Nothing quite like snacking on some nice, warm peanuts. Did you know that they have, like, zero fat. Healthy and delicious.”

“Shawn, nuts are next to a hundred percent fat.”

“Well, they are definitely next to a hundred percent delicious,” Shawn amended, shoving another handful of them into his mouth.

That was when Gus came to a realization. “Wait a second, didn’t your dad want you to help him clean out the attic today?”

“If by ‘help him’ you mean ‘probably just make me do it’ then yes, yes he did.”

“And you’re not going.” It wasn’t a question. Gus had been witnessing Spencer family dynamics for over two decades now and knew Shawn would take any reason to get out of it.

“Nah, we have a meeting with a potential client, couldn’t do it.” The brunet faux-psychic dismissed. “You don’t want me all covered in attic dust in grimy work clothes, would you? Because think of what kind of impression that would make. Completely unprofessional.” Shawn explained in his usual Shawn way, with his boyish and irresponsibly charm.

Gus gave a once-over of his best friend’s current outfit: sneakers, jeans, and a plaid shirt. “Since when have you cared about looking professional?”

“There have been times.”

They came back to the Psych office to find someone was already there They saw a head of dark brown hair and a black leather jacket, back to the window and reading a book in one of their leather armchairs.

She put her book down when they entered.

“Hi, I’m Andrea Prince. I have an appointment…?”

The woman was beautiful, that much Gus noticed immediately. She had brunette hair in a cute bob haircut and blue eyes like clear sapphires. The leather jacket, jeans and converse shoes she was wearing gave off ‘bad girl greaser’ vibes.

Like his friend, the ‘psychic’ took in the newcomer as well but focused on different things. Shawn noticed her leather jacket and the faint bulge in both pockets. One was likely a wallet, and the other was smaller and square-shaped, but he could see a thin white wire sticking out. Probably the new tiny iPod.

As Shawn glanced around the office, he also noticed her backpack leaned against one of the chairs, and the now organized comic books they’d previously left scattered over the coffee table. Huh, a stress organizer. Neat.

“So, Andi--may I call you Andi?” He asked, sitting down in the opposite armchair.

“Sure.”

“What can we help you with?”

She paused and re-evaluated both the psychic and the office. He knew that look. That was the ‘I don’t know if I actually want to hire this handsome psychic guy with great hair’ look.

“Wait! Before you say anything I’m getting something. Something strong,” Shawn’s hands flew to his temples and he pressed his eyes closed, slumping in his seat. “Something that makes me think of one-hit-wonder Carl Douglas…” his eyes flew open. The psychic let out a sharp ‘hiya!’ battle cry and jumped up, striking a dramatic, vaguely martial artsy pose. Andi raised an eyebrow, nonplussed, but didn’t flinch.

“You are a fighter. A black belt--and not the type that contrasts with brown dress shoes. A talented one at that, keeping both mind and body as sharp as any blade. In particular, your flying side kick is rather impressive.” He added. It was the specifics that really sold a good vision.

That got more of a reaction. “How did you--”

“Know? The spirits told me. Just like they told me how you’re in your master’s program, putting in a lot of time at the library.” Leather jacket indicated she didn’t spend a lot of time outside today, plus the tiny iPod helped her deal with long hours studying.

Her eyebrows shot almost up to her hairline, and she gave an amused smile. Not quite the amazed surprise that Shawn usually angeled for, but he’d take it. “So, did the ‘spirits’ also mention why I was here or….?”

“No, they’re being polite enough to let you tell us that part yourself.” He slinked back into the armchair.

She tilted her head, giving him a quick once-over, but moved on. “I need you to find someone. Someone that’s missing.”

“Is it your martial arts sensei? Please say yes.” Dreams of kung-fu fighting and dojo rivalries danced through his head. He should rewatch his Bruce Lee movies. As research, obviously.

“Ah, not quite. It’s my parents.” She reached into her backpack and pulled out a manilla file. The edges were creased and there probably wasn’t a lot in there based on how thin it was.

The PI’s exchanged a look. “No offense, but isn’t that more of a job for the police?” Gus asked, sympathetic as he took the file.

Andi shrugged. “They tried to, but they couldn’t find anything.”

“Well, let’s not be too hasty, how long have they been missing?”

“Twenty-five years, more or less.”

The psychic detective and his lovely assistant blinked owlishly once, twice...

“Wait, crap, I’m not being clear--I want you to track down my biological parents.”

“You’re adopted?” Gus asked, opening up the file.

“Something like that.”

There wasn’t much in the file she’d handed over, and the first thing that grabbed Gus’ attention were the newspaper clippings.

“Abandoned Baby Found on State Route One…” he skimmed the first few sentences and looked back up. That certainly put a whole new spin on things. “Wait, your birth parents just left you along the side of the highway? At night? That’s cold.”

“Both literally and figuratively.” Shawn chipped in. “You’re lucky a dingo didn’t eat you. They’re vicious and are known to have a taste for baby flesh.”

“Dingos are Australian, Shawn.”

“Oh. Then you’re lucky a coyote didn’t eat you.” Andi nodded, clearly a little uncomfortable.

“It says here you were discovered by an Alexandra Prince,” Gus spoke up, moving the conversation along past the subject of what specific local predators were most likely eat a baby.  “Any adopted relation?”

“Yeah, after the cops couldn’t find any next of kin, she later adopted me.”

“Wow, I had no idea that babies worked off of ‘finders keepers’ rules,” Shawn commented. 

Andi pursed her lips. “Yeah, uh, anyway...one or both of them dropped me off and I would like you guys to track them down. I’ve read about you guys solving a bunch of cases for the police, including a missing mummy and the murder of a sea lion. So...will you do it?”

To anyone else, it sounded like a case about as cold as it could get. Twenty-five years ago, someone or someone s abandoned a baby at a rest stop not far from town, and with the benefit of fresh evidence, the county police hadn’t been able to find anything. To anyone else, it sounded nearly unsolvable. But if you were one Shawn Spencer, ‘unsolvable case’ was just a synonym for ‘fun’.

“Of course we will.” He assured. “You won’t even have to pay us until we find your birth parents.”

“Except a small retainer fee,” Gus added quickly.

“Which we’ll waive as part of our student discount.”

“Since when do we had a student discount?”

“Great!” Andi smiled, looking relieved.“I’ll leave you my cell number. I get done with classes around two o’clock. Keep me updated?”

“Can-do.” The psychic assured. He liked her, she seemed nice. Plus, she could kick ass with both hands tied behind her back and he found that to be an interesting quality in any new potential friend.

“Also,” she gestured over to the kitchenette, gathering up her things, “it’s none of my business, but you should probably stop leaving your hot plate plugged in when you’re not using it."

“Duly noted.” Shawn nodded, having no plans to change that.

They shook hands, and Andi left to catch the next bus back to the university.

Gus was programming her number into their phones when he asked. “So, how’d you know she did martial arts? Flyer in her backpack?” Like a stage magician’s tricks, lot of Shawn’s ‘divinations’ were pretty simple deductions and observations once he actually explained them.

In response, Shawn unearthed a copy of yesterday’s newspaper off his cluttered desk, flipped it over and handed it to Gus. There was a small picture of their newest client and several other people, all dressed in a traditional martial arts gi, smiling and holding trophies . The headline was about a local martial arts tournament and skimming the article, Andrea Prince had apparently won the adult women’s events in hapkido and judo. The article mentions her flying side kick, and the fact she was attending grad school at Santa Barbara University.

With a sigh, Gus set the newspaper down and sat back on his desk.

“You know, I don’t appreciate you saying she wouldn’t have to pay us, Shawn.”

The fake psychic threw his hands up. “C’mon Gus, she’s in grad school, that means that she’s probably already up to her ears in student loans or whatever. It’s an interesting challenge!” Gus still didn’t look convinced. “And there’s probably no chance of us coming across a dead body with this case. Or only a very very tiny chance.”

Gus wasn’t so sure. It seemed half the time he and Shawn wanted to go out and do anything, they stumbled across a dead body. Or were in the middle of investigating a nice, non-violent case when they found a dead body. Or they were hired when the police found a dead body and later they found yet another dead body. The point was the majority of Psych cases revolved around dead bodies.

Gus decided to just read the rest of the newspaper clippings, curious as to what Andrea Prince had brought them.

Santa Barbara Herald

Good Samaritans Rescue Abandoned Infant

In the early morning hours of Oct 17th, Alexandra Prince and Bert Tuccio were driving north on California Roadway One when they pulled last rest stop before Santa Barbara city limits at approximately 4 in the morning. There, they found a crying baby, the girl clearly abandoned.

“We were shocked to find her there,” Prince recalls. “I mean, we just stopped to have a bathroom break during a long car ride.”  The Santa Barbara natives had attended a performance of The Winter’s Tale in San Diego, and were making their way home.

Seeing no signs of anyone else at the rest stop, and concerned for the infant’s health and well being, the friends immediately made their way to the Santa Barbara General Hospital.

“I don’t think we deserve all the praise really,” Tuccio told reporters. “I mean, it’s what anyone else would do. We couldn’t just leave her there.”

Local officials praise the Good Samaritans for their initiative, and county police are taking steps to locate the infant’s family, or who may have abandoned the baby girl.

Chapter Text

“...but as you can see here, by the slant on the ‘t’ and the loop on the ‘l’, it’s different enough to be most likely written by an entirely different person.”

When he’d called her office demanding to see her as soon as possible, the Santa Barbara Chief of Police hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect. But Henry Spencer barging in with a box of evidence and claims about his sister-in law’s death certainly hadn’t been it.

The case was before her time, but she’d heard about it second hand. Henry never said anything and she never asked about it the entire time they’d worked together. Admittedly at that point he was more concerned with his marriage falling apart, and Karen was never the type to pry too deep into her coworker’s personal lives. (Usually.)

Glancing between the samples of handwriting, she realized he was right. It was subtle, but now that she was looking for it she could see some differences. If it were her case, she’d probably have chalked up to emotional stress or something. In fact, that was likely what the detectives had thought all those years ago.

Karen studied the photos and considered what their next steps were.

It was flimsy, they both knew it was flimsy. But Henry was a great cop who had earned the benefit of a couple hundred doubts. If he said something was wrong, something was probably wrong. He and his son both had good instincts and great skills.

She looked back at him. “I’ll have our department handwriting analyst take a look at it. If and I mean if he agrees with your assessment then I will consider re-opening this case. Not before.”

The man nodded. “Alright, call me when you do. And do me a favor and don’t bring Shawn and Gus in on this. It’s his aunt, any defense attorney will twist that into a conflict of interest.” It was a good point, even if it was slightly arrogant of him to automatically assume he’d be proven right. (An understandable flaw to have, given his closure rates with the department) 

“I am well aware of that Mr. Spencer, and I’d do well to remind you that I am the one who determines whether or not to bring consultants in on a case.” As a female police officer and then chief, Karen Vick was teeth grindingly used to people questioning her judgement. At least Henry’s bits of advice came from his general fussiness and control issues rather than any kind of doubt on her capabilities.

She leveled him with a long look. It was her ‘I’m serious about this’ look she’d had plenty of experience leveling against head detectives and “psychic” consultants. “I don’t suppose there’s any point of telling you not to interfere with the investigation? For the same reason.”

“How long have you known me?” Henry scoffed. “I would never do anything to compromise the integrity of a police investigation.” Completely ignoring how he’d stuck his nose into the Eugene Franks case not too long ago, but moving on, and how exactly he’d gained official police copies of the case when he’d been explicitly barred from it. He was lucky she was willing to ignore it, for now at least.

Karen nodded. “Alright. Thank you again for bringing this to my attention.”

After her door closed, she sighed. Chief Karen Vick couldn’t even pretend this was the last they’d see of Henry Spencer regarding this case. 

Twenty four hours later, the handwriting analyst confirmed his suspicions and the Chief wasn’t even surprised.

“Lassiter, O’Hara, in my office.”

She already knew that her Head Detective wasn’t going to like this, but he’d follow orders like a good cop. Besides, Karen hadn’t made it this far by catering to her subordinate’s feelings.

Juliet O’Hara, Junior Detective of the SBPD, was used to being handed off Carlton Lassiter’s grunt work. Even though she’d been with the department three years now, and he’d grown to respect her and treat her as an equal, he wasn’t above pulling the ‘head detective’ card.

This time, he’d handed off an entire case.

“One of my informants heard that Ernesto Chavez is coming out of hiding. I need to stay on top of this if I want to catch the slimy son of a bitch and put him behind bars where he belongs. I can’t waste my time with a cold case right now.” Lassiter had given by way of explanation before cooly dismissing her. 

Juliet understood it from a logical standpoint. Chavez was second in command of the Cinco Reyes, one of the most dangerous gangs in the country. Finding him would naturally be a priority for any good detective. Compared to that, a twenty five year old potential murder would seem like small potatoes.

Still, Detective O’Hara was determined to work the Caiman case, if only to give the family some sense of closure after all these years. Then she saw who the family actually was. 

Jean Caiman’s next of kin was her sister, one Dr. Madeleine Spencer. Making her Shawn Spencer’s maternal aunt. Now, the junior detective was still determined to solve the case, but she knew as soon as the psychic consultant heard about this, he’d probably do anything and everything to get on it as well. At least Juliet could actually prepare for it, if she knew it was coming.

But, no. As soon as she exited the coffee shop, just a quick stop before heading to the evidence warehouse, it wasn’t Shawn or Gus she ran into.

Juliet knew full well who he was, even if she hadn’t previously spent hours in an interrogation room with him. Sitting with a newspaper and a cup of coffee, wearing a baseball cap and a gaudy hawaiian shirt, was Henry Spencer. A former detective of the SBPD, and Shawn’s father. 

She’d heard about him and his reputation from some of the older officers. Apparently he was a hard nosed cop, good, smart and about as honest as they came. A bit of a control freak too, which was why she braced herself just a bit inside when he “just noticed” her and walked over. (He was good at pretending to be casual, but she’d done plenty of undercover work herself)

“Detective O’Hara,” he greeted, all casual.

“Mr. Spencer,” She nodded. “I didn’t know you went here.”

“It’s as good a place as any to get a cup of coffee and read the paper,” he shrugged. “So, what are you up to?”

“Oh, just a quick coffee break before I head back to work. Plenty of cases, you know.”

“Oh yes, yes I do. Anything... interesting?” He tried, all casual. Juliet shot him an unimpressed look.

“I think you’d know that I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation.” She tried to remind, readying to spout of exact precedent and case law if need be.

Henry smiled tightly. “Yes, of course. I was obviously just testing you.” The blonde detective didn’t believe it for a second, but was polite enough to pretend.

“Alright, alright, you caught me.” He put his hands up, and they started walking towards her car. “I know you were assigned the Caiman case, and I’d like to talk to you about Shawn.”

She actually hadn’t expected that. From what little she’d seen of him and Shawn interact, she wouldn’t have pegged him actively trying to get his son onto cases. “You know, we actually solve plenty, nay many cases without Shawn’s involvement.”

“The exact opposite, actually. I’m asking you to keep this from him as long as you can.”

Juliet blinked, nearly walking into her police issued cruiser. “I—beg your pardon?”

Henry continued. “You know Shawn, If he hears about the investigation, he’ll get himself involved and—well, it’s his aunt. It’s just a clear conflict of interest, and he won’t be able to separate his feelings from the case.”

Taking a drink of her coffee, Juliet considered. The con man’s daughter was not fond of lying, for obvious reasons. She knew that there was a difference between necessary lies (undercover, national security, where she’d hid her nephew’s birthday presents) and unnecessary lies (everything Frank had ever said to her in her life). While this felt like an unnecessary lie, she also knew Shawn well enough for him to be telling the truth. 

Swallowing her coffee, a compromise was reached.  “He won’t hear it from me, but if he asks me a direct question, I’m not going to lie to him.”

The old detective held up his hands placatingly. “That’s all I ask.”

Watching O’Hara drive away, Henry drank his coffee and considered his options. The last time he’d wanted in on an old case, he’d just badgered Shawn until his son saw reason and looped him in.

That approach wouldn’t work now for two reasons: one, Detective O’Hara was an actual cop, bound by things like protocol and a chain of command, and not much in the habit of bending the rules; and two, was not related to him. Which meant he didn’t have any favors to cash in, or know her well enough to plan a few steps ahead of her. But that wasn’t much of a deterrent. If there was one thing that raising Shawn had taught him, it was how to dig your heels into the ground and press on.

As a cop, Henry knew that if a murder wasn’t solved within 48 hours, the odds of it ever being solved were startling low. Twenty-five years later put it in single digits, if even. But it was Jeanie, so he had to at least try. He was going to solve this case one way or the other, whether Detective O’Hara and the Chief liked it or not. 

Chapter Text

The last rest stop before city limits hadn’t changed too much in the past twenty-five years. Mostly just a place for commuters to stretch their feet and use the facilities, it had basic bathrooms, a pay phone, bicycle racks, and plenty of brochures for nearby attractions. The Santa Barbara aquarium, the zoo, fishing opportunities, white water rafting, so on and so forth.

One vast improvement was the addition of vending machines. Gus was debating between the KitKat and the Three Musketeers bar as Shawn looked around. He’d said that it was important for them to go to the ‘scene of the crime’ so to speak.

Originally, they’d driven out to visit the Santa Barbara County Police to see if there was an actual case file, or if any of the original investigators still worked there. While the case was technically ongoing, they’d been allowed to get a copy of the full police file, rather than the ‘public’ version that most citizens would get. At least, that’s what Shawn said, and Gus knew better than to ask many questions. Anyhow, on their way back they took a different route, and one that would lead them right to the rest stop where their client had been abandoned as a newborn.

Using the photos, Shawn was trying to overlap what the place was like then over what was here now. Gus soon emerged with a Three Musketeers bar for himself, and a bag of gummy worms for the actual (fake) psychic investigator.

“So, what are you thinking?” His lovely assistant asked after taking a bite of the candy.

“I’m thinking that this place really benefited from getting rid of the port-a-potties in favor of actual indoor plumbing,” he quipped popping a delicious worm shaped treat into his mouth. “But I’m also trying to figure out what exactly their goal was, leaving her here.”

Gus blinked. “Uh, to leave the kid out here, obviously. To get rid of a baby they didn’t want or couldn’t take care of?” While honestly either parent could have been the one to do the actual drop, or both, Shawn and Gus were using ‘they’ to refer to the nebulous, baby-abandoning person or persons until further notice.

“Well yeah, but was it more like with the Spartan kids in 300 or like Danny DeVito in Batman Returns ?” Honestly he would rather be thinking about the abundance of sweaty, shirtless men in that first movie but the question needed to be asked. Basically, was she abandoned specifically so she would die, or abandoned so she would be found? If it was the latter, there were a lot better places to do it. “What does the hospital report say?”

Gus wiped the chocolate off his hands before thumbing through the case file. “From what I can tell, she was in surprisingly good health when brought into the ER. No sign of any developmental or birth defects, and no signs of exposure so she probably wasn’t left out here for too long.”

Shawn threw away the empty candy bag and started to pace. “Okay, so say your name is Ken. You’re young, and life is going good. You have a hot, beautiful girlfriend--let’s say her name is Barbie--and the two of you have bright futures ahead of you. But uh-oh, you didn’t pay so much attention in health class and now she’s pregnant.” Given the condition of American sex ed, probably not too much of a stretch. “You can’t tell your parents, they wouldn’t understand, in fact they’d definitely yell. Maybe they’re lame enough to try and make the two of you get married and keep the kid. But you’re young, you got things you want to do, and an out of wedlock pregnancy would probably, definitely ruin both of your lives. Neither of you want to be parents but it’s hard to get an abortion without a parent at least being notified. So the two of you hide it. Maybe Barbie eats a lot of junk food and pretends it’s just normal weight gain, but I definitely suspect a lot of baggy and loose fitting sweaters were involved.”

“In California? During the third trimester being explicitly in summer?”

“Just roll with it. So you, Ken, and Barbie are successfully hiding this from everyone in your lives, but the kid’s gonna come eventually. And one day, boom! It happens, and the kid is now here. So now you have a very, very alive baby and definitely a mess because as much as birth is a miracle, it’s a very disgusting miracle. I watched videos of natural births and I may never be the same Gus. I’ve been changed as a person. I, myself, now feel confident in delivering a baby should the need arise, due to all my research.”

The sales rep rolled his eyes. “Don’t pretend like you wouldn’t scream and pass out, Shawn. But you do raise a good point--without going to a hospital, who delivered the baby? Remember my ex-girlfriend, Mindy?”

“Yeah, but you only went on like, three dates. That doesn’t really qualify as an ex-girlfriend.”

Gus just shot his friend a look. “My point is, she was a nurse midwife, and on one of those three dates, she gave me this big long speech on how complicated giving birth actually is, and some of the risks involved. You really think ‘Ken and Barbie’ did it all by themselves?”

“I don’t know,” Shawn huffed. “Maybe the guy was a pre-med student, maybe they just read a book about how to deal with it and got lucky. Now, back to before you so rudely interrupted, you as Ken now have an actual, alive baby. And as much as you don’t want the responsibility of parenthood, you also aren’t exactly down with actually murdering the kid.”

“Like most sane people.”

“So you abandon her here. At like, three in the morning. Why-- specifically --here?” He gestured around.

Again, Gus wracked his brain. “No security cameras?”

“Maybe, but also there are other places to drop the kid off that have that. Places closer to town, places closer to wherever you and Barbie holed up in to have her in the first place. So why here?” Another long pause, before Shawn just shook his head and started walking back to the parked Blueberry. “Well, I think we’ve gotten everything we can out of coming here.”

“Alright, what’s our next move?” Gus pulled out his keys.

“Well, we’ve looked at the scene of the crime--I’d say our next step is to talk to the witnesses.” Gus turned the key in the ignition, and both friends buckled up.  “Cancel any plans, tomorrow we’re taking a road trip to Bakersfield.”

As they were making their way back to the Psych office, Shawn pulled out his phone. No new messages. 

Huh. He’d left one for his dad that morning asking about that friend Henry used to have at the county PD. They’d done well without his help, but it was a little weird for his father to not at least have left one of his typical ‘ I’m busy, do it yourself ’ voicemails. Maybe this time he was actually busy.

With a mental shrug, Shawn put his phone back in his pocket. Whatever his dad was up to probably wasn’t that important.

Chapter Text

Despite the little incident at the coffee shop, Juliet was glad to find no one waiting for her at the evidence warehouse. The case file and autopsy report retrieved from records, now all O’Hara had to do was track down the box of evidence. After filling out the proper paperwork, she delved into the bowels of old cases of SBPD’s past.

Opening up the box, there wasn’t much. The original copy of the suicide note, what clothes she was wearing at time of death, her purse...Juliet’s predecessors didn’t leave much for her to work with. But she wasn’t about to let that stop her.

Donning her gloves, she started with the victim’s purse. Breath mints, antidepressants with a prescription that hadn’t been filled in months, and her wallet. Nothing stood out to her, but Juliet purposefully wanted to keep her mind open to all possibilities. It would be a bad idea to speculate before you had evidence, otherwise you could end up twisting facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts--something her own partner could be guilty of.

Moving on, she opened up the small notebook. At first, the notes seemed to be based around Ms. Caiman’s job, writing down meeting times, court dates, proposed motions or coffee dates with colleagues. The last few entries were addresses in Santa Barbara. Juliet made a mental note to look them up, maybe she had more friends in town.

What made her pause, if only for a moment, was a photograph. Jeanie, Dr. Spencer and the little boy between them must have been Shawn. He looked to be about four or five, and was blowing out the candles on a birthday cake. The detective couldn’t help but smile to herself. He was such a little cutie back then. Still was now, actually.

She tucked the photo into the case file, and her mind returned to the case. Juliet has reached out Dr. Spencer’s office soon after she got the case, but apparently the police psychiatrist was currently in Barcelona and wouldn’t be able to be reached for comment until tomorrow. That was unfortunate, but not much of a roadblock. 

She looked at the other contents of the wallet. Several business cards, a couple from the law firm where she worked, Moran & Infeld, one for Dr. Madeleine Spencer, one for the therapist in LA—and one for a Mr. Ed Beauchamp, reporter for the LA Times.

Satisfied with what she’d found, she re-baged the evidence, and went to check out the box. Honestly Juliet could have done all of this at the station, but doing it straight in the evidence lockup meant that there was little to no chance of the Spencers getting in there--either of them.

About half an hour later, Juliet had signed out the evidence from the locker and was making her way back out to the parking lot, when she caught sight of Henry Spencer--this time laughing and talking to the officer at the front desk.

“Mr. Spencer.”

“Detective O’Hara.”

“Funny running into you here.” She commented, not at all surprised to see him now that she actually thought about it. He was Shawn’s father after all.

“Uh, yeah, I was just catching up with Bill here.” He gestured over to the desk officer. “We actually went to the academy together and thought I’d stop by to say ‘hi’.”

The polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes made it clear how little she believed that. “Well, then, I’ll leave you to it.” She moved towards the door.

He moved forward and politely opened it for her, waving bye to Bill. “So, about Jeanie’s case--” he started, dropping the formalities.

Juliet cut him off right there.“I assure you, I’m doing everything in my power to solve this case, and I already have some developing leads.”

“Well, a second set of eyes never hurts,” he continued. “Especially with your partner busy with that other case.”

She narrowed her eyes. “If you’re questioning my capabilities as a detective—“

“I’m not saying that at all,” Henry defended, holding his hands out placatingly. “But Jeanie was my sister in law. If it was your family—“

“I’m sympathetic, but what both you and the Chief said is still true, it’s a clear conflict of interest.”

The two cops all but stared each other down, assessing. Whatever Mr. Spencer saw, it was enough for him to know that he wasn’t going to win here. “Detective O’Hara, you’re a good cop, and I respect you and what you’re doing. But there’s no way in hell that I’m not getting involved.” Then he walked away.

Juliet watched his retreating back, and just knew this wasn’t going to be the last she saw of him.

Henry Spencer was well aware that what he was doing was by most people’s definition, a little crazy. After all, he’d followed O’Hara back to the police station--albeit by a different route-- parked in an out of the way corner, and was now surreptitiously watching the parking lot to know when he could break into her car. Why? Because he needed to see what was in that evidence box for himself, and what kind of leads she was talking about.

Was it the most ethically sound thing he’s ever done? Definitely not. But this was his family, and his mistake, so he was going to do it. Besides, if all went well, O’Hara wouldn’t even realize he’d looked through, so there wouldn’t be any consequences for a detective just trying to do her job.

After five minutes of waiting, he had the perfect opportunity. He knew it was in her car because while he’d seen her enter the building with the case file under her arm, she wasn’t carrying the evidence box.

Her car was locked, obviously. Luckily, he kept a screwdriver and a steel rod in his truck for just such an occasion. First, he wedged the screwdriver into the thin space between the upper part of the door and the car, firmly tapping it in with the heel of his hand. This created a thin space for him to insert the rod into the car itself, angling it so he’d hit the unlock button on the side. Once in, he quickly opened the door, and placed the rod underneath the car.

A quick peak into the banker’s box from the warehouse revealed it to be empty. That only through him off for a second, though. Of course she wouldn’t have just left the important stuff out in the open like that, even in a locked car. The evidence bag that contained Jeanie’s personal effects was probably in the same place she had stored the casefile: in a special lockbox hidden underneath the seat. It only took him a few minutes of searching to find it.

Looking at the lockbox, he really had to give O’Hara props. No simple combination lock that anyone with a good ear could crack. She probably had the only key to it to it, and kept it on her person. Getting to it would have been a hassle, if he’d actually needed it.

Taking a bobby pin out of his pocket, he started working the lock. He’d figured this particular trick out early into his relationship with Maddie, and kept finding pins in the oddest places, years after she moved out.

Now that the box was open, he took out a pair of disposable gloves from his back pocket, and started looking through what he found. Most of it seemed to be normal things found in a purse, but he hit the jackpot when he found her notebook.

He remembered her always carrying it around back in the day. While she was able to recall anything she’d ever heard, Jeanie used the notebook as a way of keeping it all straight.

While he didn’t have Shawn or Maddie’s natural eidetic memory, the detective had trained himself over the years to remember the things he’d seen, even down to the smallest details. Flipping through Maddie’s notebook, he memorized names and addresses for the more recent entries before she died, and put to work putting everything back exactly the way he’d found it.

He’d just slipped the lockbox back under the seat when he heard footsteps.

“Can I help you, sir?” Henry looked up to see a uniformed officer. Tall guy, dark hair, medium build. The nametag said ‘McNab’, and the former detective recognized seeing him around the station. Connecting the face to the name, he knew that officer to be good at grunt work, but not the sharpest tool in the shed, according to Shawn.

“What? Oh!” He stood up. “No, there’s no problem. It’s just, I uh, loaned Detective O’Hara my toolbox the other day, and the screwdriver was missing, so she said I could look for it.” Offering up said tool like he had nothing to hide, and hoping McNab didn’t notice the steel rod under the car itself. “Turns out, the darn thing rolled under the seat.” He laughed.

The key to a good lie was twofold: one, it had a nugget of truth. And two: the absolute confidence that whatever you said. Both things Shawn had unfortunately mastered at a young age. Honestly, looking back he shouldn’t have taught the kid how to be such a good liar. He also probably could have waited until he was little older before teaching him how to break out of a trunk of a car, but there was no use dwelling on that now.

McNab nodded, the entire story seeming to make sense to him. “Oh! Well, in that case, I’m glad you found it. Sorry to bother you.”

Henry smiled. “No worries, officer. Better safe than sorry.” Not to question Karen’t judgement, but he’d have a serious word world with her about that guy if he hadn’t just been breaking into a detective’s car to take a look at classified evidence.

Closing the car door, Henry pulled out his keys and moved as if he was going back to his own car. When he was sure McNab was out of sight, he ran back to O’Hara car and grabbed the steel rod. Hey, he’d seen enough crime scenes by now to know how to clean up after himself

Juliet stopped and stretched, and glanced at the clock on the wall. Her first day on the Caiman case had actually gone rather well, despite the roadbumps named Henry Spencer.

Her guess about the addresses had been wrong though, as beyond the Spencer’s home address, the Santa Barbara courthouse and the vital records office, most of them were just various grocery and department stores in town at the time. The only thing that stood out to the detective was the address for the Shallot Rentals Main Office--which cross checking the files, is the rental company that owned the house she was staying in at time of death.

Tackling a case twenty-five years old had other, more expected challenges. Like the LA law firm she worked at, Moran & Infeld? Well, calling the place most of the people she’d worked with back then had either long quit or were now senior partners. Meaning it was difficult to get a meeting with them, even playing the detective card. She’d managed to speak with someone tomorrow though, even if it was technically over their lunch break.

But the detective was having more luck on other fronts. The ex-boyfriend, Ed Beauchamp, still lived and Los Angeles and still worked for the LA Times, except now he was the editor. After giving his office a call, she’d managed to wrangled a nice meeting with him tomorrow.

“McNab, do me a favor and track down a Dr. Luke Martin in Los Angeles. I need to talk to him about one of his old patients.”

“On it, detective.” McNab scribbled down the name and last known address. “Oh, and by the way I saw Mr. Spencer outside. He found his screwdriver, turned out it just fell under your seat.”

”His what?”

”You know, back when you borrowed his toolbox? I saw him outside earlier, so I thought I’d let you know he found it.”

“Oh, did he? Well,” she smiled tight. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Oh, it was so on.

It was dark out by the time Shawn drove up to his dad’s place. 

They’d checked in with Andi and she was totally fine introducing them to her mom and ‘Uncle Bert’ and asking a few questions. Just as long as they didn’t mention that they were psychics/private investigators/people Andi hired to look for her birth parents. Apparently she’d been having this fight on and off with her mom for years, and Mrs. Prince just thought that nothing good could come from digging into Andi’s past. Not exactly a paragon of honesty himself, Shawn was fine with it.

Shawn just wanted to check in with his dad, see how the whole ‘attic cleaning project’ was going (and whether or not there was still a chance of him being roped into it). And, well, ask him if he could borrow his truck. For a good reason!

Climbing the steps to his childhood home, Shawn opened the door and the first thing he heard was his dad on the phone. “—as soon as possible. Yes, I’ll hold.” He looked up and noticed his son, and didn’t seem all that surprised to see him.

“Shawn.”

“Dad.”

A beat, and the old detective placed the phone receiver to his chest. “So, why are you here?” Ah, straight to the point as ever.

“Nothing much, I just need to borrow your truck tomorrow. Gus and I need to go up to Bakersfield for a case, and he doesn’t want the miles on the company car.” He was also well aware that, as much fun as it sounded, they couldn’t make the trip with all three of them crammed onto his motorcycle.

“Can’t.”

“What, why?”

“Because I need it, I’m headed down to Los Angeles tomorrow.”

“Los Angeles? What are you doing in Los Angeles?”

Henry huffed. “Look, Shawn, I know I usually say I don’t have time for this, but right now, I really don’t have time for this.” They both heard a noise from the phone, and the older man instantly held it back up to his ear. “Yes, I’m still here,” he turned around, continuing whatever conversation he’d been having when Shawn arrived.

The PI huffed and walked away. “Fine, okay. Just thought I’d ask. Bye.” Honestly, he wasn't even surprised. His father had made his priorities clear ages ago.

He heard the last threads of the conversation as he walked out the door. “Yes, tomorrow afternoon would be perfect, actually…”

Chapter Text

The ended up borrowing Mrs. Guster’s car. A little desperate-sounding, maybe, but ultimately necessary by process of elimination. After all, Gus’ parents both lived in Santa Barbara and weren’t taking weird random trips to LA anytime in the next few days.

They met at the Psych office, bright and early at 10am.

Andi looked over the car. “Is this your personal car, Mr. Guster?”

Noticing her appraising look, the Casanova wannabe flashed what he thought was a charming smile. “Yes, it is. And you can call me Gus.”

“It’s his mom’s car.” Shawn was quick to interrupt. Gus didn’t even look embarrassed, and their client just breezed right past him, circling around the vehicle.

“Okay, well tell your mother she has good taste. This is a well built car.” 

As she was inspecting, Gus pulled Shawn off to the side. “My mom said I can borrow it on the condition we fill it up with gas and don’t make a mess—that means no eating in her car.”

“Well that’s just being unreasonable.” Shawn quipped, already calling shotgun.

Despite the horrific lack of road trip snacks, Shawn was actually enjoying himself. Their client was acting as navigator during this little road trip, being more familiar with the route up to Bakersfield. The ride was nice, actually, with the fake psychic able to rant about some of his favorite 80’s movies and Andi continuing to nod along long after other people would just tell him to shut up.

“--and that is why Thundercats is an objectively better TV show than not only G.I Joe, but any cartoon since. But of course, I would hate to hog the conversation.” Said the man who hadn’t stopped talking once for the past fifteen minutes. For Gus, it was practically a white noise machine. Ha! White noise, he’d have to remember that one. “What do you think?”

Shawn turned around, only to then notice that their client was gazing out the window as if she was in a music video.

“You know, the scenery is great, really, but I’ve been told it’s rude to zone out while someone’s talking to you.” He added, not actually offended.

Gus scoffed. “Like you don’t do that all the time.”

“Hence where I’ve heard it.”

“Don’t worry, I was listening,” she turned back towards them, not looking at all embarrassed. “As for your question, while you probably made some good points about plot, character arcs, and quote ‘kickass action figures’ I’ve never actually seen either of the shows.”

“What?!” Shawn and Gus asked in unison, twin expressions of scandal on their faces.

“Did your parents not have a TV in the home?”

“Were they Mormons?”

“I’m pretty sure Mormons are allowed to watch TV, Shawn.”

“I was allowed to watch TV,” she defended. “I was always just way more into Ninja Turtles. And Batman.”

“Wait, Adam West Batman, Kevin Conroy Batman or Michael Keaton Batman?”

“Definitely Conroy Batman, but I do have a soft spot for Keaton—after seeing that movie I begged my mom to enroll me in karate lessons.”

“Now, for an absolutely vital question—who was your favorite Turtle?”

“Ninja turtle? Toss up between Donatello and Raphael.”

Shawn turned back towards the front. “Well, everything about you just makes a whole lot of sense now.”

In the mirror, he could see her making a ‘fair enough’ head tilt. “You?”

He placed a hand to his chest. “I do confess, Michaelangelo holds a special place in my heart.”

“So, Andi,” Gus spoke up, interrupting. “I forgot to ask, what are you getting your master’s in?”

“Oh, I’m pursuing a dual masters in Classics and English literature.”

“Ah, yes, the classics. The Beatles, John Wayne, Die Hard.”

Andi chuckled, and just as Gus was about to open his mouth to correct his friend when something when wrong. There was a ‘ker-thunk’ and a ‘screech’ then a ‘twup-twup-twup’ as the car slowed down. Driving off to the side of the road only confirmed Shawn’s suspicions--they had a flat tire.

Which brought them to their next problem: actually changing the flat. Because, as it turns out, neither of the private investigators actually knew how to do that.

“You were on the road for ten years how do you not know how to change a tire?”

“Not constantly. You actually have a car how do you not know how to change a tire?”

“The blueberry’s a company car, Shawn! This is my mom’s car and she’s going to kill me!”

There was a sharp noise. The friends turned to find Andi kneeling next to the popped tire, having found the toolkit and jacking the car up herself. You know, like you do.

Shawn blinked. “That was impossibly fast.”

Andi shrugged. “My uncle owns a garage and was my main babysitter after school growing up.” She grabbed the tire iron. “I took shop class for the easy A.”

Within minutes Andi has replaced the flat with the spare and they were back on the road to Bakersfield. Shawn puffed a bit at having helped by holding the lug nuts while Gus had just stood there.

Gus rolled his eyes and kept an eye out for any signs of garages or tire stores nearby.

The diner had a nice faux 50’s vibe that Shawn could appreciate, along with a genuine working jukebox in the corner. If Andi has worn her leather jacket today he could have probably made a decent Happy Days reference, but ah well.

The whole reason they were in the diner was because Gus was across the street buying a new tire to replace the one they popped. His thinking was if he found one of the same brand and put the spare back in the trunk, Mrs. Guster would be none the wiser. Sounded legit to Shawn, but a lifetime of eidetic memory and Henry Spencer was a father hadn’t left him with a good sense of what normal people did and didn’t notice.

So, while Gus was engaging in duplicity, Shawn and Andi were across the street at a diner getting lunch. Well, it was half after two, so maybe more of an early dinner. What was the smoosh word of lunch and dinner? Linner? The man considered the much better and snappier combinations as he did a scan of the room and managed to snag them a booth.

They ordered something to drink, and after the waitress left, Shawn was glad he had the chance to talk to her about something.

“Hey, quick question—what’s the real reason you want to track down your birth parents?”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, be honest. You have a reason for looking into this after how many years. And I’m doubting that it’s because you want all the presents from all the birthdays they missed.” Shawn leaned back, taking a drink of his pineapple smoothie.

The brunette was staring down at her cup of coffee, the look on her face belaying the internal debate. Tell or not to tell? “What I want is....weird, I guess.”

“Andi,” he half-laughed, “I’m probably the last person in the world who’d judge you for being a little ‘weird’. Besides, we already took the case, and I intend on seeing it through to the end. I’ll even pinky swear on it if it’ll make you feel better.” He offered up the little digit.

A pause before hooking her pinky with his. “Pinky swear.”

“Great,” he smiled. “Now, c’mon lay it on me.”

Steeling herself for a moment, she gave in and answered. “I was ten years old when my mom finally gave me the whole story. How I was abandoned, and she found me.” She leaned back in her booth, a distant look in her eyes. “I still remember exactly what she said, and all I remember thinking is: why? That question has hung over my head for fifteen years.” Andi looked back at Shawn. “What I want is closure. What I want is to put this little mystery to bed and move on with my life.” She picked up her cup of coffee, and took a drink.

“And to punch them in the face.” He tacked on to the end of that.

To her credit, the client didn’t sputter. She just smiled sardonically and asked, “Did the spirits tell you that?”

“They may have mentioned it in passing.”

She’d been fidgeting with her hands while she was talking, the right one balling up into a fist. Didn’t need to be a detective to guess where that train of thought was leading. Technically assault, but luckily Shawn wasn’t a cop. It actually just made him like her a little bit more.

Andi assessed him over the lip of the mug for a moment, before seeming to come to a decision. “So, weird question--exactly what kinds of spirits do you talk to?”

Shawn blinked. “Beg your pardon?”

“The spirits that you seem to get your information from. You said the spirits told you that I did martial arts, was working on my master’s, and was spending a lot of time at the library.” She set down her coffee cup. “Like, are they ghosts? Just weirdly helpful dead people who’re loitering around? Or is it more of a non-human entity thing, like the spirits that just so happen to reside in the area.”

Crap. No one had asked that before. Stall for time. “Why do you ask?” He chuckled.

Andi shrugged. “I was wondering who’s been observing my life without me knowing. Because that has to be boring for them. Like, my grandma Louisa I could maybe see doing that, even though she’d probably get bored and haunt someone else in my family for a stint; but a general ‘spirit of Santa Barbara’ or whatever makes me wonder why it was specifically hanging out around me.”

“I, uh--”

Before he could even start to answer that, she continued. “Because the former leads to some questions of credibility. Like, how do you know the information they give you is good?” She thought aloud. “I imagine if you’re, like, solving a murder it’s pretty straightforward. Most people probably want their murder solved. But if it’s like me, ie very not dead, does that mean most people just generally have a spirit hanging around them that you have a quick chat with?”

Shit. When people believed him, they didn’t really question it. If they didn’t believe him, they dismiss everything out of hand and don’t latch onto anything. She was poking holes like a three-hole puncher.

Lucky for him, before she asked any more questions, they both heard a loud crash. The waitress who’d been carrying a tray of drinks had crashed into one of the other customers. Or, more likely, he’d crashed into her, sending the woman and her drinks flying. Shawn could tell that, based on his crisp suit, and the Blutooth headset in his ear.

“Excuse you,” Business Guy snorted derisively, walking away without so much as lifting a finger to clean up the mess. Andi scowled at him, then grabbed their tin of napkins and went to go help the waitress.

After five minutes or so, she came back to their seat. “Anyway, spirits...any one of them telling you which car parked outside is his?”

The “psychic” detective thought it over. He pictured the man again, this time noticing the keys in his left hand with a logo. He then mentally cross-referenced that logo with the cars that were parked outside. “Probably the silver Volvo, parked second row why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason,” she grabbed a big handful of sugar packets and stuffed them in her pocket before excusing herself to the ladies room. Shawn didn’t miss how she definitely wasn’t heading towards the ladies’ room.

Gus finally arrived not ten seconds later, sitting next to his best friend and picking up a menu. “Did you guys order yet?”

“No, just drinks.”

When Andi came back, she sat back down and picked up a menu. Her face portrayed nothing of what Shawn would expect--no hint of smugness or ‘gotcha’. The fake psychic blinked. Had she...literally just been making conversation? Almost straight up expose him as a fraud, and she’d just been having a friendly chat?

Huh, weird. But like he said, he could deal with weird. They continued lunch with relative normalcy, continuing to talk about how great the Ninja Turtles were, and Shawn put the entire conversation out of his mind. You know, as much as someone with total eidetic memory could.

As they were walking out of the diner, Shawn didn’t miss Business Guy having trouble with the silver Volvo. Nor did he miss the little white granules on the ground by the gas tank. Sugar granules, he presumed.

He shot an approving at Andi, but said nothing as they got back into the car and drove away. 

Chapter Text

“Murder? You think Jeanie was murdered ?” Dr. Luke Martin asked, mouth falling a bit agape.

“We’ve found some inconsistencies in the evidence that prompted a re-opening of the investigation,” Juliet diplomatically responded. It was never a good idea to play your hand too early. 

Waking up bright and early at 5:30am, Juliet had come to the precinct this morning intending to update the Chief, only to find a well timed court order allowing her access to Jeanie’s psychiatric file sitting on her desk. Which was strange--Juliet hadn’t spoken with any judge yet--until she remembered Jeanie’s (ex) brother-in-law. If it was some sort of apology for breaking into her car, Juliet would have much preferred Mr. Spencer just stop trying to interfere with the investigation altogether. But, well, baby steps, she supposed.

Doctor Martin sighed, removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You don’t seem surprised,” she observed.

He placed his glasses back on and cleared his throat, looking back at her. “To be entirely honest, detective, I don’t know what to think. Jeanie was incredibly strong willed, but depression...it’s like someone’s own brain has turned against them, with self-attacking thoughts, feelings of numbness or hopelessness…” he sighed again. “With medication and counseling she was doing well, but once she stopped…” the doctor trailed off. “Well, suicide wasn’t the most unbelievable outcome.”

“Why did she stop attending sessions with you? Did she give a reason?”

“Yes, unfortunately it was financial. After being laid off, Jeanie lost access to the company insurance benefits, which included mental health services. It was something her regular insurance wouldn’t cover, and until she found another job, she simply couldn’t afford to pay me out of pocket for more than a few sessions.”

Juliet nodded. “Is there any trouble going on in her life? Anyone she may have had a problem with or wanted to hurt her?”

He pulled a file over from the desk. “I looked over my notes after you contacted me last night. Most her problems were fairly mundane. The only thing that stood out to me was her break up with her boyfriend, uh,” he flipped open the old notebook, “Ed, was his name.”

Ed Beauchamp. Juliet was grateful that she’d been able to come here first. Any insight she gained here would be helpful talking to him about it later. “How so? Was it a bad break up?"

“No, you see that was the thing, she just... refused to talk about it.” His expression was one of mild befuddlement. “Jeanie was always rather open with me about her problems. She felt comfortable opening up to me about things. We’d talk it out, and I’d try to help her gain some perspective or additional tools to handle what was happening in her life.”

“So her not wanting to talk about this break up was unusual.” Dr. Martin nodded.

The detective made a special note of that. “Is there anything else that stood out to you? Anything at all?”

After a brief pause, the psychiatrist shook his head. “I really am sorry, detective. But after all these years, if I had any additional insights concerning Jeanie Caiman, I’ve simply forgotten them.”

Henry’s day started bright and early at 6 am. He ate a quick breakfast of eggs and toast, brewed coffee, and was out the door by 6:30. He knew where he had to be and when, and who he needed to talk to. The first on his list was the ex-boyfriend.

Ed Beauchamp had been a legal correspondent for the LA Times, it was how he and Jeanie had met. These days, he’s married with three kids, but still worked for the same paper, moving up to editor. Unfortunately, editors have things like meetings and deadlines that could make them annoyingly difficult to talk to.

“I’m sorry sir, but Mr. Beauchamp is very busy right now,” the secretary, a professionally dressed red-head named Christine informed him for the second time now. Henry was irritated and mentally counted backward from ten before saying anything.

“I just need a few minutes, that’s all it’ll take,” he assured. Before she could refuse him for the third time, the elevator dinged open. Revealing one particular junior detective. Just when he’d thought he could avoid her.

Juliet, to her credit, only spared him the briefest of disapproving looks before turning to the secretary with a smile. “Hi, Detective O’Hara, SBPD, I’m here to speak with your editor.” Henry reminded himself that he was an adult. Adults do not pout and glare at people just doing their jobs.

Christine smiled, ignoring him as she rose from her chair. “Come right this way, detective.”

Juliet was a professional. That’s why when she saw Henry Spencer glowering at her while she walked right into the offices, the Detective did not indulge in sticking out her tongue, making any overly smug expressions or indication of triumph. She just kept walking.

Her mother was right, taking the high road was its own reward.

“Jeanie Caiman…wow, I haven’t heard that name in years.” Beauchamp was seated behind a desk cluttered with papers and post-its, the editor-in-chief plaque displayed prominently in front even as it was being used as a paperweight. His expression of professional interest had melted away into quiet surprise when the detective had told him exactly what she needed to speak to him about.

“You think she was murdered?”

“It’s difficult to say at this point in the investigation,” she assured. “But with new evidence coming to light, we do believe that there’s more to her death than was previously thought.”  

The editor leaned back in his office chair, a pensive look on his face. Juliet wasn’t sure if he was thinking about this as Ed, the man who had dated Jeanie, or as the editor of the newspaper on the cusp of a potential story.

“So you know I have to ask you this. Do you have an alibi for the night in question? Between midnight and one am, October 17th, 1983?”

“Yes, I do. I was covering a story,” The man stood up from his comfortable-looking office chair, and went to grab a picture off of the wall. His office was decorated with several framed articles with the byline of Ed Beauchamp. Setting it down in front of her, he pointed out his younger self amongst the crowd of officers as another man was being led away in handcuffs. “A buddy of mine in the state police tipped me off to a big bust at some Hollywood producer’s mansion in Palm Springs. Me and the photographer--Mike--were staked out in front of that place from midnight to three am waiting for them.”

Juliet obligingly wrote that down. The alibi was consistent with the one he’d given to the police back then. He even showed them pictures with timestamps to corroborate his story.

As he sat back down in his office chair, Juliet asked him about his relationship with Jeanie. Soon circling into the question of why, exactly, they had broken up.

Beauchamp had gone silent with that, clearly thinking the question over. His first answer was a shrug of his shoulders. “I’m sorry detective, but after twenty-five years, I really couldn’t say. It probably had something to do with our jobs. Both of us had long hours and we barely saw each other.” Something seemed to occur to him, as he tilted his head and looked straight at her. “Have you talked to the people at her law firm yet?”

“That’s my next stop, why?”

“Because if Jeanie was murdered, I’d take a good long look at the cases she was working there.” He leaned in, closer, voice raising in intensity but not volume. “Moran and Infeld was one of the top criminal law firms in the state back then. Even as a paralegal, there’s no telling who or what she could have come into contact with.” Juliet could see the gears turning in his head, the instincts that made him a good journalist coming into the forefront. She appreciated his insight, even while crossing her fingers she wouldn’t have another well meaning civilian butting in on her case.

The detective gave a polite smile and nod. “That certainly sounds like something to look into.” She asked a few more questions: had he seen Jeanie at all in the months following their breakup? Knew about any specific enemies, people who would want to hurt her? Unfortunately, he couldn’t recall anyone in particular.

“Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Beauchamp.” She rose out of her seat and offered her hand. He took it and gave her a firm, polite shake.

“Hey, anything I can do to help--wait, let me give you my business card.” He reached over to his desk and took one out of a small stack.“Let me know if you have any other questions, or if there’s anything else I could do.” Beauchamp paused, looking at the white cardstock before handing it over to her. “Jeanie didn’t deserve what happened to her.”

Interesting.

“What did Beauchamp have to say?” He asked once she exited the building, not even bothering with pretense this time. Juliet wasn’t even surprised anymore. 

“Mr. Spencer,” she sighed, pulling out her keys. “We both know I can’t tell you that so why do you even ask?”

“C’mon, I’m the one who brought you the case--”

“And if you call the fire department, you don’t get to stick around to help put out the fire,” Juliet retorted. “Henry, after that stunt you pulled with my car, you’re lucky I don’t arrest you. For that, or for interfering with a police investigation.”

Henry crossed his arms and glared at her. Juliet could see how intimidating that could be to any suspect or misbehaving teenager, but as she was a cop, a grown woman and in no way related to him, the impact was wasted. Wishing him a good afternoon, she walked away.

Back in her car, Juliet opened up to the list of names she’d taken from Caiman’s notebook. While there was always a possibility of a suspect pointing them in another direction to distract from themselves, Beauchamp had both an air-tight alibi and a point. A legal team wasn’t just lawyers, but also paralegals, legal secretaries, and interns, to name a few. All were bound by attorney client privilege, of course, but more than one criminal had decided that they couldn’t take a risk, and decide to permanently silence them for one reason or another.

Only one name stood out to her: Luigi Vampa. There was a niggle of recognition, but she couldn’t place it for the life of her. So she does what all good detectives do, and delegates.

Buzz was always friendly when he answered the phone. “Hey Detective, how’s Los Angeles?”

“It’s nice, I guess,” she conceded.

“Oh! It’s lunchtime now, and you’re hungry, there’s this great little sandwich place downtown called the Calvacanti Bistro, my wife really loves their--”

“That’s great Buzz,” Juliet interrupted as politely as she could. “But I’m here on a case, not for sightseeing, and I called because I need you to look into someone. There’s a name in Caiman’s notes, a Luigi Vampa? See what you can find on him.”

“Luigi Vampa, got it--wait. Do you mean the mobster Luigi Vampa?”

Well, that certainly was fast. “Mobster?”

“Oh right, I sometimes forget that you’re not actually from Santa Barbara,” the officer idly commented. “Back in the 80’s, the Vampas were one of the biggest crime families in California. Luigi Vampa was the head of the family, and was actually tried for murder in Santa Barbara.”

Wow, Beauchamp hadn’t been lying about the law firm’s clientele. “That’s... actually really helpful Buzz, what else can you tell me?”

“It was...something to do with his accountant? I was just a kid when it happened, but I remember it being all over the news--mostly because his name sounded like ‘vampire’.”

Okay, fair point. “Still, look into the case, see what you can find. Thanks, bye.”

As she disconnected the call, she realized that she hadn’t seen any sign of Shawn and Gus all day. Considering their history with getting involved in cases that they really shouldn’t have, this had to be some kind of record.

Then again, based on the time of day, they could just be distracted with lunch.

Chapter Text

Their client’s childhood home was on 221 Belle Terrace in Bakersfield. A small, comfortable two story house with a trimmed lawn, stucco siding and flower baskets hanging by the front door.

The door was opened by a beautiful woman with dark hair, olive skin, and amber brown eyes. She took the two men in with undisguised curiosity, but it quickly melted into warm familiarity as she looked to Andi.

“Andrea, please introduce me.”

“Hello, my name is Shawn Spencer and this is my partner Manny Fancypants.”

“Burton Guster,” he insisted. “But everyone calls me Gus. May I just say, the pork roast you’re cooking smells delicious.” He had smelled it the moment she’d opened the door.

“Shawn, Gus, this is my mom, mom these are the psychics I told you I was shadowing.”

“Oh yes, for the research project, come in, come in,”

Alexandra Prince was a beautiful woman of middling years. She had dark brown hair that was starting to gray, and right now was pulled back into a loose bun. 

The wall photos were what most middle class American families hung up on their walls. Wedding photos, baby pictures, snapshots of the kid growing up, etc. Etch. Except, the man that Alexandra was standing next to at the altar was absent from the rest of them. Now that Shawn thought about it, Andi had never mentioned a father.

So, single mother, right on. She probably wouldn’t have kept the wedding photo if it was a nasty divorce. So, this Mr. Prince had probably passed away before she found a baby by the side of the road. 

Not to mention how the article had referred to her as a Ms. Prince while Andi’s ‘uncle’ was Mr. Tuccio. So, either good old Bert was a feminist, or Alexandra had been married to her driving companion’s brother. 

“You had a Harry Houdini phase?” Gus asked, amused.

“Oh yeah. I learned how to break out of handcuffs, pick locks, the whole nine yards. It was fun.”

“Less fun when she tried to recreate the water torture in our bathtub.” Alexandra raised an eyebrow.

“I believe your exact words were: ‘Andrea Elizabeth what the hell are you thinking?’”

Alexandra laughed. “Yeah, that sounds like something I’d say.”

Mrs. Prince made a dinner of chicken risotto paired with a bottle of Zinfandel.

“So, what exactly entails this research project?”

“I’m a pharmaceutical sales rep.”

“And I’m a psychic detective.” Andi kicked his shins under the table, causing him to let out a yelp.

“Andrea, would you mind helping me with something in the kitchen?” It wasn’t so much a question, the woman placing her utensils down and standing up.

Their client shot them a look, but stood up and followed after her mother with a sigh.

"Andrea, que fais-tu? Pourquoi aller fouiller dans le passé? [Andrea, what are you doing? Why go digging into the past?]

“Maman, c’est pas grave.” [Mom, it’s not a big deal]

Mrs. Prince pursed her lips. "Je ne sais pas pourquoi tu ressens le besoin de faire ça. Rien ne peut venir de fouiller dans le passé.” [I don’t know why you feel the need to do this. No good can come from digging around into the past.]

[According to Google Translate]

Shawn did as Shawn does and went snooping.

To use at some point:

“Gus, don’t be the spinning wheel that Sleeping Beauty pricked her finger on.”

“I am Shawn Spencer, and this is my partner Manny Fancypants. We’d like to talk to you about your daughter.”

“I’m a widow, my husband passed away shortly before I adopted Andi. The Tuccios have remained good to us, and still consider us part of the family.”

“Thank you for making the time to talk to me, Mr. Vicars.”

“It’s no problem.”

Gerrard Vicars was one of senior partners at Moran & Infeld, and by all accounts one of the top defense attorneys in the state. He had one of the best views to match the title, looking out over Los Angels from his spacious highrise office. Looking around, she noticed all sorts

Vicars leaned back. “I think I was with my wife at home that evening? You’d have to check the police report, I really don’t remember.” Juliet had checked the police report, and that was Gerrard Vicars had told the detectives

“Did she have any problems with anyone at the office? Get into fights?”

He shrugged. “I couldn’t say. My only real relationship with Jeanie was a professional one.”

“According to my predecessor’s notes, the two of you worked together on her last case with the firm?”

“Yes, the Vampa case. Although, we were still doing the groundwork, the case hadn’t gone to trial yet by the time layoffs rolled around. Jeanie was one of the best we had, a shame she was let go.”

Abigail Hererra was fresh out of law school and a first year associate 25 years ago. Now, her name was on the door—albeit as Abigail Daniels. She specialized in family and estate law, and had been so kind as to squeeze Henry in at the last minute.

The detective scanned the contents of her office and desk. This was a woman who put a lot of pride in her work, based on how she placed a photo of herself receiving some kind of award in a more prominent position than the picture of her family. He also knew she and her husband just celebrated their 20th anniversary, based on the thank you notes he’d seen on her assistant’s desk.

Mercedes Desmond was a career paralegal as well, and Jeanie’s notebook indicated the two were work friends.

“I don’t know how much help we could be, Jeanie got laid off about 6 months before she died.”

“Did you keep in contact at all?”

“Yes, at first. We grabbed lunch a few times. The poor woman was so stressed out, trying to find a new job.”

“We didn’t really talk about it, but it was clear the stress was starting to get to her. 

“If I remember right, she told me she’d found a gig in Santa Barbara, and was moving back to be closer to family.”

“Can you think of any problems Jeanie was having? Maybe with someone at the office?”

“No, everybody loved Jeannie. Friendly, good worker...She’d even cover for me so I could leave early and tuck in my son." Mrs. Desmond remembered with a smile, before her brow furrowed and expression turned pensive. “What about her boyfriend? I forget his name, but I do remember that big fight they had at the office."

“Yeah, I remember that,” Daniels agreed. “They practically got into a screaming match in the front lobby. I remember because I almost called security on him.”

“Do you remember what it was about?”

The women shaked their heads “No, but I do remember her being really shaken up by it.” Desmond chimed back in. “Later that night, I returned the favor and covered for her while she went and got her things out of his apartment while he wouldn’t be there.”

The pair looked at each other. “I think we need to have another talk with Beauchamp.”

“New case. Client wants us to track down her long-lost birth parents.”

“Let me guess, they’re not the type with just a simple sealed adoption file.” Henry surmised.

“More like the type to ditch a newborn on the side of the road.” Shawn grabbed the milk carton. “Adoptive mom was the one who found her, thought I could jog her memory, get any clues.”

They found the man taking the garbage out.

“Is something wrong?”

“Just one quick question, Mr. Beauchamp—“

“Why you neglected to tell us about the big fight between you and Jeanie?” Henry crossed his arms and glowered at the man.

That got his attention, the man’s body language changing to nervous in an instant. “Couples fight, you’re going to have to be a bit more specific,” he equivocated.

“Witnesses recall the two of you practically getting into a screaming match at the lobby of Moran & Infeld.” Juliet chimed in.

“Something that would have been pertinent for you to mention.”

“It was a long time ago--” He turned and started walking towards the house.

[More cajoling from Henry]

A resigned inhale. “We fought because I found out Jeanie was cheating on me.”

That was a surprise.

“I beg your pardon?” The older detective asked, sounding incredulous.

“You ask why I didn’t bring it up? Because I was humiliated. I really liked Jeanie and was completely dumbfounded to come back to her apartment one day to overhear...well…”

“Incriminating noises?”

A clenched jaw and a tight nod.

“I went back, trying to clear my head. Then I just got angry, so yeah, I got into a fight with her at her office. I was really, really angry. We broke up after that, she got her things out of my apartment while I was away.”

Henry looked at the man, carefully considering him. “You ever see or talk to her after that?”

“No. She left an apology voicemail, admitting what she’d done and apologizing for it. But by then it was too little, too late.” Beauchamp grumbled, crossing his arms. “That was the last time I heard from her.”

“You ever find out who the other guy was?”

"No."

[Maddie finds out]

Even with the nine hour difference between Santa Barbara and Barcelona, they’d managed to talk over the phone.

Jeanie’s case had been re-opened.

“New evidence has come to light, and we believe that there is more to your sister’s death than we first thought.”

Maddie had to sit down.

She’d canceled all her appointments for the next week—she needed to get back to Santa Barbara. It was certainly abrupt and definitely stepped on a few toes, but citing a family emergency made people understanding enough. She was currently on a red eye back to Santa Barbara.

She looked out the window. If the police were looking into this, that meant Shawn and Henry weren’t far behind. This... was not going to be fun. She just hoped this hasn't squandered what progress they'd made in the last few years.

[Juliet confronts Henry]

“What do you mean Shawn still thinks it was an accident?!”

It was hard to give an exact description of the look on Henry’s face, but if pressed she’d say it was a huffy scowl. “He was six, and we weren’t exactly eager to explain the concept of suicide.”

“Okay, but, that was over twenty-five years ago! He is a grown man and you have had plenty of time to clear that up.”

“By the time we thought he might be old enough to tell him, Maddie and I were already problems and there never seemed like a good time to bring it up. Then the divorce, then the car theft, and then the minute after he graduated, Shawn rode out of town on his motorcycle and communicated mainly via post cards. I barely saw him, and the times I did—well it didn’t seem right either. ‘Merry Christmas Shawn, by the way your aunt actually committed suicide and we’ve been lying to you for years. Pass the mashed potatoes?’” His tone was one of totally exasperation. 

“So, what, you were just planning on never telling him?” The stony silence gave Juliet all the answers she needed. “Henry—“

“It’s not exactly a state secret!” He crossed his arms over his chest, body language radiating defensiveness. “All he’d really have to do is google her or whatever—not that he ever would.”

“Are you saying that Shawn wouldn’t care?”

“No, no, that’s not it. You don’t know him like I do, Shawn can’t handle death, he’s flinched from it his whole life.”

Juliet didn’t need to say a word to express her disappointment. Henry refuses to be cowed by a woman half his size and young enough to be his daughter, but wouldn’t lie and say he was immune from her glare.

“Is there anything else?”

“Pertinent to the case?"

"Or in general."

"No. There's nothing else."

[Andi reveals she knows Shawn isn't psychic]

“He’s good with people, he can tell when people are lying,” she shrugged. 

Gus glances up at her. “And you’re not.” She ducked her head.

“Shawn doesn’t have a sixth sense, psychic abilities, whatever. He’s probably just really, really good at reading stuff like body language and pupil dilation.”

“What’s throwing me off is the blanket.”

“What blanket?” Gus asked.

“The baby blanket that she's wrapped in the photos.” Shawn grabbed some of the earliest pictures. “The one she was wrapped in when they brought her to the hospital. The one she still has in her closet.”

“What about it?”

“Look at this thing,” Shawn held up the careworn blanket for inspection.“It’s clearly handmade or whatever. That implies a level of care that’s a bit odd coming from people who dumped her on the side of the road. It’d make more sense for them to wrap her in a towel or something.”

“Maybe one of them was a stress knitter.”

“What?”

“The father could have been a knitter too, Shawn. Knitting is a perfectly unisex hobby.”

If Dad was here, he’d probably say something about Shawn needing to expand his gaze. So Shawn was going to do exactly that.

Juliet and Henry drove in silence.

“What was she like?”

“Hm?”

“You know, Jeanie. Your sister in law...knowing her personally would give you some insight.” She gave him the out.

Henry took a moment. “...stubborn. Smart, and stubborn. She knew her way around the law as good as any lawyer. Always had to be right and get the last word in.”

“And of course, you don’t know anyone like that.”

He glanced back over.

She’d been so smug when Shawn smiled at her and not him. First his mom, then his auntie the kid’s all rosy cheeks and gummy smiles but hand him to Henry and nadda. For months.

He thinks of the baby blanket she knit for Shawn, sitting in that box in the attic. Thinks about her driving straight from Los Angeles after she heard Maddie was in labor. Thinks about her babysitting so the two of them could get their first night off in months. 

“...she was a little shit, when she wanted to be. Threatened to slash my tires if I ever hurt Maddie. I was a cop at the time.”

Juliet chuckled. “Sounds like one of my brothers.”

“Yeah well, she’d probably have gone through with it too.”

[Shawn Finds Out and yells at Henry]

“I guess this is the part where you say I should have figured it out on my own?”

“Shawn—“

“I mean how obvious was it? Aunt Jeanie, a woman I hadn’t seen in months, dies in an ‘accident’ and I, all of six years old don’t figure out you and mom lied about that?! Is that what you were going to say?”

“Shawn."

Juliet was ramrod straight and looked like she wanted to be literally anywhere else in the world. Gus just grabbed his coffee and settled in. He’d been on the sidelines of Spencer Family Drama for years now, and knew how to ride it out.

Shawn and his father had been butting heads for years, going back to when Mr. Spencer wanted his son to follow in his footsteps as a cop and started training him from an early age to do just that. As a kid all of Shawn’s training had seemed exciting--kind of like Robin or Speedy or Aqualad. Now that they were adults with the benefit of hindsight, it probably hadn’t been the nicest thing for a child to go through.

Juliet honestly didn’t expect him to say anything, but after a moment, he did. “I understand it intellectually,” Shawn tapped his temple, “why they didn’t say anything at first, I was six. But it's been years, and they haven’t. It feels like...it feels like they’ve just been lying to me, this whole time.”

“Being lied to—especially by someone you love—it just hurts. Doesn’t matter why they did it, it doesn’t make the pain go away.” Juliet added. Shawn nodded, his mind somewhere else.

“Honestly, working with your dad, everything about you has become so unbelievably clear,” Juliet commented, and Shawn has to smile at that.

“So, you...stole a car?”

“Borrowed. I was going to give it back.” He habitually defended.

“I see. Any particular reason you needed to ‘borrow’ it?”

“Well, there was this girl...and I was basically 0 for, well, high school. My dad arrested us before anything could really, happen , if that at all matters.”

He looked back over to her. “So, what about you?”

“C’mon, you couldn’t have always been this perfect bastion of law and order.”

Biting her lip, Juliet thinks back on some of her more major shenanigans of youth.

[Where did Jeanie Get the Money?]

“Okay, so we have wire transfers from an offshore bank account paying her after she got fired. She moves from Los Angeles to the rental. It’s remote, it's out of way...”

What the hell could she have been paid to do?

“She’s being laid off, so she takes the time to dig up some dirt on one of the law firm’s clients and blackmails them with it?”

Henry sighed. He could certainly see her doing that over the more dangerous ways to make a quick buck like prostitution or drugs. “What about the guy she was seeing?”

“Beauchamp?”

“No, no the guy she was cheating on him with. The one she wouldn’t tell any of her coworkers about.”

“I mean we don't know who that is...."

"There has to be a connection between Aunt Jeannie and Andi's case."

Shawn was at the mortuary doors.

He didn’t want to go in there. It was probably stupid, in fact he knew it was stupid. Aunt Jeanie had died when he was six, they dealt with dead bodies all the time. Probably wouldn’t even look like her anymore.

“Problem on the Psychic wavelengths. Something’s just hinky right now and I don’t want to go in there and misinterpret what the spirits are saying.” Shawn smiled, toothy and wide and like everything was fine.

The detective tilted her head.

“Fine, Alright, you got me—Gus didn’t want to say anything, but he’s feeling decidedly icky about a body that’s been in the ground for that long.”

Juliet did him the courtesy of pretending to believe it. She squeezed his hand. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll go in there and talk to the coroner. And if you get anything from out here, just let me know.”

“Thanks Jules,” Shawn pat her hand. “Gus and I really appreciate it.”

“Looking back, I can see how injuries thought to be caused by the fall could actually be signs of a struggle.”

“Mr. Spencer, your sister-in-law wouldn’t have happened to have been on any swim teams, was she?”

“No, why?”

“Because reading over this autopsy file, the cause of death was head injuries and a broken neck--but the kind of broken neck that’s more consistent with a dive, rather than a jump. I’ve seen it in cliff-divers who, shall we say, miscalculate.”

“So she fell down the cliff face-first?”

"General rule of thumb--feet first suicide, head first, someone pushed you."

“The original medical examiner didn’t find anything suspicious about that?” Juliet questioned.

“He does make note of it, but as everything was pointing towards a suicide, it can be understandable that it was overlooked.”

“I’ll have to let you know more once I do a full autopsy, but right now it looks like she was alive when she went over the railing.”

“Okay, Going back to Ken and Barbie. Kid’s coming, and you want to hide it from everyone else in your lives. But luck has it, you heard about these great little seaside cabins that are probably going to be empty as it’s after tourist season. The two of you have been clever enough to hide a whole pregnancy, so you’re probably clever enough to find a way to sneak into one of the cabins without anyone noticing.”

“What about the maid, cleaning lady or whatever?”

“In the off season, they only come by once a week. If you and your sexy girlfriend timed it right, you’d have a whole six days to get it done with and then clean up after yourselves.”

“Okay, but how does your Aunt Jeanie fit into all of this?”

Shawn pursed his lips. “Maybe her cabin was close enough and she heard something, like the cries of labor. Or was out walking one evening and heard something. She comes in and it’s the worst thing ever. Maybe they panic, kill her, and then dump her body over the cliffside?”

Gus looked at the case file. “Shawn, your aunt’s time of death is listed at between midnight and one am.”

“And?”

“And was your aunt the type of person to be going on a midnight stroll, in the dark, where there are literal seaside cliffs?”

Shawn frowned. “Well, there’s a lot that we don’t know about her, apparently. Anyway, back to my brilliant theory! So Andi was found by the road at around four am. Assuming she wasn’t out there for too long because, like, coyotes, that gives Ken and Barbie a few hours to clean up after themselves, fake the suicide note, and get the hell out of dodge. They abandon the kid on their way out of town.”

Gus had to admit, it was a solid theory. The suicide note was vague enough that it could mean pretty much anything, and her purse was left on the kitchen table so it wouldn’t have been too hard to find find her name on her driver’s license.

“Look, I know there are still holes--like how the hell did they manage to forge her handwriting well enough for it to pass inspection 25 years ago--”

“And the fact that Andi wasn’t born that night.”

“What?”

Gus points hospital report. “The doctors at the hospital confirm that the kid was only a couple of days old. You should seriously start reading things, Shawn.”

“I read the part where it said ‘newborn found abandoned on the side of the road’. Newborn implying ‘newly born’. I blame shoddy journalism.”

[Illegal adoptions]

“That’s a thing?” Gus asked.

Lassiter nodded. “While not as well known as drug or weapon smuggling, it is a thing and it is profitable. Waiting lists are long, many couples are willing to pay thousands of dollars to acquire a child.”

“Part of that process is forging documents to falsify the kids’ identity. Which as a paralegal and a notary Jeanie definitely could help with.”

The gears in her mind were turning. “Forging a few documents to help kids get adopted by loving families isn’t exactly hard on her conscience, so strapped for cash, she agrees.”

“So you’re saying Andi, as a baby, could have been part of this illegal adoption scheme that Jeanie was also part of,” Shawn grimaced.

The head detective nodded. “White and healthy would make her more valuable on the black market. Probably born in some commie backwater like Belarus or Yugoslavia,” Lassiter commented.

[More talking/theorizing]

“But something changes,” Juliet continued,.

“Maybe Jeanie had a change of heart, calls her sister intent on revealing the scheme. Her employers overhear, kill her to keep her quiet, and the baby is dumped at the rest stop as they get out of town.”

“So all we have to do is figure out who of Caiman’s former clients was connecting to child trafficking, good job O’Hara.”

“You’re not going to help?”

“I’m still zeroing in on Chavez, but you go you clearly have this handled.”

“Come on Gus, this is Aunt Jeanie we’re talking about! You remember her, the woman who took out out for ice cream and would always push us super high on the swing sets? No way she could get wrapped up in organized crime!”

“No, Shawn,” Gus frowned. “I don’t. Do you know why? Because she died when we were six .”

“Are you saying I’m idealizing her?”

“I’m saying that even with your picture perfect memory, you’re only remembering the parts of her that she let you see.”

Shawn isn’t sure.

“You heard Lassie, Andi was like, worth a lot as a baby—“

“For racist reasons.”

“Yes, exactly. Murder or no murder, they still could have made a killing off of her. Why leave the golden goose at a dinky little rest stop?” Shawn scratched the back of his head. “Either way, tonight I’ll have to have dinner with my parents.”

“Good luck man."

Mom was in a nostalgic mood, looking through all the Jeanie-related things that had been shoved up to the attic. Neither of them could say no to her.

“Oh, look,” she gasped, reaching into the box “it’s Shawn’s baby blanket.” 

“I remember dragging this thing around everywhere.” He chuckled, running his hand over the soft material.

“Jeanie made it for you,” Maddie sadly smiled, “knit it by hand.”

Cue the genius lightbulb going off. Immediately, he pulled out his cellphone and stepped outside.

“Jules,”

“Shawn, hey what’s going on?”

“Have you gotten the autopsy report yet?”

“Just got it, and in fact I just sat down to read it, why?”

“Because I am getting major psychic vibes that something very important is about to be revealed.”

“Uh, alright give me a second,” thirty seconds later, Shawn overheard “...oh my god.” And knew he was right.

“Let me guess,” Shawn spoke up, not relishing his brilliant deductive skills this time, “before she died, my aunt Jeanie was pregnant.”

“Sometimes I really wonder how you do it Shawn.”

“Plus, now that I’m thinking about it, Andi has a crazy good memory. She remembers what her mother said EXACTLY, and can quote me word for word.”

“So she has a good memory, so what?” Gus tilted his head.

“It means she has eidetic tonal memory. Just like my mom and my aunt Jeanie and it’s passed down genetically. That cannot be a coincidence.”

“Occam’s razor, all things being equal the simplest solution tends to be the best.”

“I just don’t understand how the last corner could miss something like that,” Henry crosses his arms. “I mean, the defensive wounds are one thing, but pregnant?!”

“...maybe he didn’t miss it.” Juliet narrowed her eyes.

“What are you saying?”

“That the coroner did notice that she was pregnant, but purposefully left it out of his report.” She leaned forward, voice low, “We could be dealing with a cover-up.”

Jeanie’s purse…

Pretty normal contents. Wallet, notepad, lip balm, gum, some loose pens…Shawn also noticed the new stitching on the purse lining.

Her notepad…

Shawn undid the stitching. Hidden in the lining of her purse was the registration form to report an at-home birth. And it listed the father's name. The address for the Santa Barbara county vital records office suddenly made all kinds of sense.

"Aunt Jeanie," Shawn smiled. "You are amazing."

“So…” Maddie sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “We have a niece.”

Henry glanced over to her, unsure. “I think you mean that you have a niece.”

She hummed, non-committal, and as he was about to place a gentle hand on her shoulder, she reached out and pulled him into a hug.

The man froze.

“Jeanie was a mom.” She mumbled into his shirt.

“Yes...yes she was.”

“Mom, this is Andrea Prince. Andi, this is my mom…” Shawn trailed off.

What the hell do you say to a long lost relative who you hadn’t even known existed 24 hours ago?  Shawn certainly had no clue.

His mom, ever wise, offered her hand. “Hi, Andi...I guess I’m your aunt.”

“Uh, hi yourself.” The young woman tried.

Breakdown:

Shawn looked at Vicars. “After all, what’s a bit of after-hours fun between two colleagues? Never mind that you were married and she had a boyfriend—sidebar ew. But then she gets pregnant. You can’t talk her into getting an abortion, but you do manage to talk her into keeping it a secret. Then you try to talk her into giving the baby up for adoption, using your client Vampa’s contacts to help set up something under the table. But then Jeanie has a change of heart. She calls her sister. You fight. Things get heated. You push her off the side of a cliff.”

[Vicars says nothing, he’s too smart to give anything away right now]

“You were good, you were REALLY good, after making your career as a defense attorney, you knew what to do to protect yourself. You clear out the baby things, and forge a suicide note in her handwriting.”

“The last thing to do was get rid of the baby. For my own peace of mind I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt that you were going to continue with the secret adoption plan.”

[Bring up Andi's adopted mom]

“Because you see, the lovely Mrs. Prince didn’t just lose her husband--he was murdered. And guess who was the defense attorney for the trial?”

[Comment from the peanut gallery]

“Oh, I can see it now. Enraged that your husband’s murderer was set free—but not quite suicidal enough to take on Luigi Vampa—you managed to follow the defense attorney Vicars late one night up to the Shallot rental. It’s dark, and you can barely see anything. You stab him in the back, and leave him there to die on the forest floor. In a rush, you grab what he was carrying--only until later do you discover that it was a baby.”

“How come Vicars never reported it to the police?”

“Because if he did, that would establish that he was at Shallot the night Jeanie died--and like I said, he was stabbed in the back. He didn’t see who attached him. He just knows they took the baby. So he calls Vampa to say the birth mother changed her mind—he was smart enough to never actually tell him who the parents were.”

[A comment from Mrs. Prince. She couldn't just abandon the kid]

“Yes, exactly! So, you lie about where you found the kid, so that when the body is found, there isn’t an easy link back to you. Except, Vicars didn’t die, obviously.” He pointed to the very much alive lawyer. “And as no other family came forward, you were granted custody of the baby. Which worked out perfectly for you," he points at Vicars, "You drove back to Los Angeles and returned home after a ‘long night at the office’. You were a medic in the army. It would have been easy for you to take care of yourself without going to the hospital. You read about Good Samaritans finding a baby and dropping her off at the Santa Barbara Hospital. Not even at the Shallot rental. If nothing is found and she disappears into the foster care system, all the better for you. So to make sure the connection is never made, you pay the coroner to leave one simple but vital detail out of his report—the fact that Jeanie Caiman had given birth mere days before she died.”

“Andi, I believe there’s been something you want to say to this man.”

[Andi punches him in the stomach]

Shawn nodded his head. “Ditto.”

“Gerard Vicars, you are under arrest for the murder of Jean Caiman and for obstruction of justice.” Maddie’s eyes never left either of them, her hands keeping a death grip on her purse as Juliet read him his Miranda Rights.

Epilogue:

November, 1983

Maddie had just come back from placing flowers on Jeanie’s grave, when she noticed someone else.

A frazzled looking young mother was furiously looking through her baby bag, as an infant was all but wailing their little lungs out.

“Powder, powder, powder…” she was muttering to herself.

“Excuse me,” Maddie approached. “I couldn’t help but overhear...would you like a little help?”

The woman blinked at her, owlishly.

“It’s okay if you don’t, I’d hate to be a bother. But you look like you’ve had a long day.”

“Uh, yeah,” she seemed to snap out of it.

“Could you please try to find the powder in here? I swear to god I packed it but the bag seems to have eaten it.”

Maddie chuckled. “Yeah, we’ve all been there.” Digging through the baby bag, she found the powder and a new clean diaper in one of the side pockets. The young woman accepted it with a grateful smile. Soon enough, the baby girl was freshly diapered and a lot more calm.

“Thank you so much,” the woman—Alexandra—sighed with relief, placing her daughter in a stroller as she started cleaning up after herself.

“It’s no problem,” Maddie couldn’t help but smile. “We all need a little help sometimes.”

“This is Andrea." She introduced.

[A generally sweet moment]