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elles_lettersRating: PG-13
Summary: When a former partner of Henry's comes under investigation, Shawn will do anything to get assigned to the case. Turns out, he's not interested in helping an old family friend; he's out to protect himself.
Warning: Mentions of child abuse and use of coarse language. And because it should be mentioned, this story obviously takes place before Season 5's Shules relationship.
Disclaimer: Psych and all related characters are the property of USA Networks and a bunch of other people in suits. Please don't sue.
chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | chapter eight | [bonus] | chapter nine | chapter ten
For the home of former cop, Ian Stiles home was much easier to break into than Shawn had previously planned. Stiles had just returned to Santa Barbara and had yet to install stronger padlocks on the front door of his new home. It took Gus all of ten minutes to pick the locks and get them in.
Shawn didn't even get to take the price tag off his new crowbar.
"Well, that was a waste of $20," he mumbled. He dropped both the crowbar and the bag of clothes on the entryway floor and looked around the dark living room. The house was in complete disarray. Boxes labeled "living" and "dining" were stacked against the walls to varying heights, and scraps of newspaper and bubble wrap littered the floor. An unassembled dining room table lay in the middle of the room, with a tan leather recliner and a messy side table a few feet away.
Gus stopped studying the cluttered room to give Shawn a curious look.
"Where did you get all this spending money, Shawn?"
"I may or may not have borrowed your debit card."
Gus glared.
"I did," Shawn said unapologetically.
"You said you bought all this stuff!"
"Right. I bought it; you paid for it."
"You're giving me that sweater when we're done with all this," Gus said, scowling. He gestured toward the bag Shawn was carrying. "What's with the clothes?"
"The laundromat near my apartment just increased their prices and Henry's being … Henry. I was hoping I'd get some laundry done, but from the looks it, I doubt Stiles has gotten his machines hooked up."
"You brought your dirty laundry to a break-in?"
"Is that rude?"
"You're a horrible criminal, Shawn."
"Just start looking. And try and put things back just like you found them. Stiles worked crimes scenes for nearly 20 years; there's a good chance he'll know we were here."
"Says the man who'd planned on making tonight laundry night."
Gus walked over to a stack of boxes and opened the top box. Inside sat the ugliest set of dishes Gus had ever seen. (Stag heads did not belong on dinner plates.)
He shoved the box aside and open another labeled "bookcase." More stags sat nestled in a bed of newspaper and plastic shopping bags. Gus gingerly pulled out a porcelain buck that was previously a 12-point, but (most likely due to the destructive nature of gravity and hardwood floors) had been reduced to an eight-point.
Nearly three years in law enforcement and Gus had learned one thing for fact: Suspected dirty cops had tacky tastes in interior design. "What are we looking for Shawn?" he asked, tossing the figurine back into the box.
"Dude, I don't know," Shawn answered from the kitchen. Gus could hear the sound of a refrigerator door slamming. "A trench coat and fedora. Signs Stiles has been hanging out in bushes late at night. Photos of him with a porn 'stache. You'll know it when you see it."
"You're overestimating how much I know about sickos," Gus replied as he poked around another box. "The cops haven't been able to find anything on this guy and they know a lot more about this stuff than I do."
Shawn returned to the main living room with a soda in one hand and a sandwich hanging out of his mouth. He plopped down in the recliner and took a bite out of his sandwich.
"Trust me, Gus. Stiles is charming and charismatic, but he's no criminal mastermind." Shawn said around a mouthful of white bread. He placed his snack on the arm of the chair and began picking through a pile of mail on the side table. "He's going to slip up and we'll be there to catch him as he falls right on his ass."
"He's got all three of the Spy Kids movies," Gus commented. "That's kind of suspicious."
"Keep looking."
"And the entire series of Webster? There's something wrong with this guy, Shawn."
"Keep looking," Shawn repeated.
After a few more minutes of digging through a box of dusty true-crime novels, Gus stood up in frustration. "There's nothing here, Shawn, but old man crap. Anything incriminating is probably still packed up." He nudged the box back to the wall with his foot.
Shawn stopped rifling through the papers to look over at Gus. "Why do you think Stiles moved back to Santa Barbara?" he asked.
"The Chief said because he thought he was safe here."
"He had to have known that the police in Boston would have tried contacting the police here. He can't possibly be that cocky. Wouldn't it have made more sense to go where nobody knows him?"
"Not really. He has a history here, yeah, but he also has contacts here. He has your father here." Gus thought for a moment. "When do you plan on telling your dad about the investigation?"
Shawn tossed the mail on the side table and leaned back in the recliner. "He's a smart man; he'll learn about it out on his own," he said before sipping at his soda.
"Honestly, I'm surprised he hasn't already found out about it. It's been six full hours."
"Old age has not been kind to my father, Gus—Oh! Doodles!" Shawn picked up a yellow legal pad that caught his eye sitting on the side table. "Did you know that psychologists can now diagnose a person with a major mental illness simply by studying their doodles?"
"No, they can't, Shawn."
"You're right; they can't. But you can determine their contacts by reading the list of phone numbers and address they write down right next to the doodles."
Gus hurried over to join Shawn at the recliner. "He wouldn't make it that easy for us, would he?" he asked as he peered at the paper.
"'6:30 p.m., 3569 San Pascual Street,'" Shawn read aloud. "You know I'm horrible with directions. Where's the closest IHOP to this address?"
"San Pascual Street? That's near Perv Parkway," Gus mumbled.
"What?"
"'Perv Parkway. It runs along Highway 101. Because of laws that limit how close sex offenders can live to parks or schools, there are only a few places in the city where they can live. That part of the interstate has the highest number of sexual offenders in the city."
"Dude, how the hell do you know that?"
"Because, Shawn, unlike you, I care about our city's crime statistics."
"That's disturbing."
"That's practical. We're employed by a police station, Shawn."
"You make me uncomfortable," Shawn whispered.
"Whatever." Gus snatched the yellow pad from Shawn. "Most of these other addresses are near Perv Parkway. Who could Stiles possibly be meeting down there?"
"I think we know the 'who,' Gus. It's the 'why' that matters now."
"I'd just like to go on record saying I'm extremely uncomfortable with every aspect of this investigation. I think I need a shower."
Shawn put the legal pad back where he found it underneath the pile of letters. "Well, scrub up while you can. We're heading over there tomorrow."
"Oh, no we're not. We've gotten too involved as it is. You heard what Lassiter said."
"There was something about 'Google,' right?"
"Forget it, Shawn."
"Gus! I can't go over and hang out with a bunch of pervs by myself. I need you there being all uptight and pretending to judge them and their way of life."
"I do judge them and their way of life."
"See? You're a necessary part of this investigation."
Gus rubbed his neck wearily. "Something about this doesn't feel right, Shawn. This is too easy. A suspected child pornographer returns to town and starts hanging out with a bunch of convicted child molesters? What!?"
"Gus—"
"I think we should just leave this to the police, Shawn."
"Gus," Shawn ran a hand through his hair. "We can figure out what he's doing with the photographs and the videos, and we can find them. We have to." Shawn finished seriously.
"And why is that?"
"We owe it to the kids."
"I don't know why you're so interested in helping out with this case, Shawn, but..." Gus sighed deeply. "As long as you promise nobody we question will touch me, I'll help you out."
Shawn grinned. "I'll do my best."
Gus looked over at the side table. Crumbs were sprinkled everywhere and a damp ring marred the polished wood. "Dude, look at this mess! Does the kitchen look like this?"
"I may or may not have spilled his new jar of Miracle Whip all over the kitchen counter."
Gus glared.
"I didn't!" Shawn said. He could feel his pocket vibrate as his phone signaled a new text message. "You've got to stop taking me so seriously," he told his partner as he pulled the phone from his pocket.
A text message from his father popped on the screen. It was curt, as Henry's messages tended to be, and stated only "Call me. NOW."
"I try not to take you seriously at all," Gus answered as swept bread crumbs into his hand. "Come on. We've got a lead, now let's get out of here. Who are you texting?"
"My father." Shawn announced as he clicked through the message. "Apparently he needs to talk to me."
"Why?"
"If I had to guess, he's just found out about Stiles."
A/N: Guys, I think I bit off more than I can chew with this story. I somehow, inadvertently, started a case-fic...sort of. It's not a traditional case-fic in that we know who did what; it's more of a matter of describing how. Nevertheless, I want all the details to work out and make a logical story. So, I've had to scrap my usually writing method of typing aimlessly and seeing what comes of it. (Oh my god, did I just admit that?) I don't know how I feel about the voice of this story. I feel stuck in a rut. I feel like I use too many adverbs. I feel that I may be able to fix it before the story gets any deeper.
Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed! I know it's been slow going and I can't promise that it will get any faster. But, I can promise that it will get finished. If I may ask a favor, when (or if...I won't be presumptuous) you leave a comment, tell me your biggest case-fic pet peeve. I need some different perspectives so I can make this story as strong as possible. Thanks again! =D
(P.S. Would anybody be offended if the next chapter featured Shawn and Gus hanging out with a senile old flasher? Because that's where it's headed.)
(P.P.S. I made Perv Parkway up...but there are a whole lotta sex offenders near Highway 101 in the city of Santa Barbara. I know because I looked it up. Because I love you all that much.)
Summary: When a former partner of Henry's comes under investigation, Shawn will do anything to get assigned to the case. Turns out, he's not interested in helping an old family friend; he's out to protect himself.
Warning: Mentions of child abuse and use of coarse language. And because it should be mentioned, this story obviously takes place before Season 5's Shules relationship.
Disclaimer: Psych and all related characters are the property of USA Networks and a bunch of other people in suits. Please don't sue.
chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | chapter eight | [bonus] | chapter nine | chapter ten
Chapter Three
For the home of former cop, Ian Stiles home was much easier to break into than Shawn had previously planned. Stiles had just returned to Santa Barbara and had yet to install stronger padlocks on the front door of his new home. It took Gus all of ten minutes to pick the locks and get them in.
Shawn didn't even get to take the price tag off his new crowbar.
"Well, that was a waste of $20," he mumbled. He dropped both the crowbar and the bag of clothes on the entryway floor and looked around the dark living room. The house was in complete disarray. Boxes labeled "living" and "dining" were stacked against the walls to varying heights, and scraps of newspaper and bubble wrap littered the floor. An unassembled dining room table lay in the middle of the room, with a tan leather recliner and a messy side table a few feet away.
Gus stopped studying the cluttered room to give Shawn a curious look.
"Where did you get all this spending money, Shawn?"
"I may or may not have borrowed your debit card."
Gus glared.
"I did," Shawn said unapologetically.
"You said you bought all this stuff!"
"Right. I bought it; you paid for it."
"You're giving me that sweater when we're done with all this," Gus said, scowling. He gestured toward the bag Shawn was carrying. "What's with the clothes?"
"The laundromat near my apartment just increased their prices and Henry's being … Henry. I was hoping I'd get some laundry done, but from the looks it, I doubt Stiles has gotten his machines hooked up."
"You brought your dirty laundry to a break-in?"
"Is that rude?"
"You're a horrible criminal, Shawn."
"Just start looking. And try and put things back just like you found them. Stiles worked crimes scenes for nearly 20 years; there's a good chance he'll know we were here."
"Says the man who'd planned on making tonight laundry night."
Gus walked over to a stack of boxes and opened the top box. Inside sat the ugliest set of dishes Gus had ever seen. (Stag heads did not belong on dinner plates.)
He shoved the box aside and open another labeled "bookcase." More stags sat nestled in a bed of newspaper and plastic shopping bags. Gus gingerly pulled out a porcelain buck that was previously a 12-point, but (most likely due to the destructive nature of gravity and hardwood floors) had been reduced to an eight-point.
Nearly three years in law enforcement and Gus had learned one thing for fact: Suspected dirty cops had tacky tastes in interior design. "What are we looking for Shawn?" he asked, tossing the figurine back into the box.
"Dude, I don't know," Shawn answered from the kitchen. Gus could hear the sound of a refrigerator door slamming. "A trench coat and fedora. Signs Stiles has been hanging out in bushes late at night. Photos of him with a porn 'stache. You'll know it when you see it."
"You're overestimating how much I know about sickos," Gus replied as he poked around another box. "The cops haven't been able to find anything on this guy and they know a lot more about this stuff than I do."
Shawn returned to the main living room with a soda in one hand and a sandwich hanging out of his mouth. He plopped down in the recliner and took a bite out of his sandwich.
"Trust me, Gus. Stiles is charming and charismatic, but he's no criminal mastermind." Shawn said around a mouthful of white bread. He placed his snack on the arm of the chair and began picking through a pile of mail on the side table. "He's going to slip up and we'll be there to catch him as he falls right on his ass."
"He's got all three of the Spy Kids movies," Gus commented. "That's kind of suspicious."
"Keep looking."
"And the entire series of Webster? There's something wrong with this guy, Shawn."
"Keep looking," Shawn repeated.
After a few more minutes of digging through a box of dusty true-crime novels, Gus stood up in frustration. "There's nothing here, Shawn, but old man crap. Anything incriminating is probably still packed up." He nudged the box back to the wall with his foot.
Shawn stopped rifling through the papers to look over at Gus. "Why do you think Stiles moved back to Santa Barbara?" he asked.
"The Chief said because he thought he was safe here."
"He had to have known that the police in Boston would have tried contacting the police here. He can't possibly be that cocky. Wouldn't it have made more sense to go where nobody knows him?"
"Not really. He has a history here, yeah, but he also has contacts here. He has your father here." Gus thought for a moment. "When do you plan on telling your dad about the investigation?"
Shawn tossed the mail on the side table and leaned back in the recliner. "He's a smart man; he'll learn about it out on his own," he said before sipping at his soda.
"Honestly, I'm surprised he hasn't already found out about it. It's been six full hours."
"Old age has not been kind to my father, Gus—Oh! Doodles!" Shawn picked up a yellow legal pad that caught his eye sitting on the side table. "Did you know that psychologists can now diagnose a person with a major mental illness simply by studying their doodles?"
"No, they can't, Shawn."
"You're right; they can't. But you can determine their contacts by reading the list of phone numbers and address they write down right next to the doodles."
Gus hurried over to join Shawn at the recliner. "He wouldn't make it that easy for us, would he?" he asked as he peered at the paper.
"'6:30 p.m., 3569 San Pascual Street,'" Shawn read aloud. "You know I'm horrible with directions. Where's the closest IHOP to this address?"
"San Pascual Street? That's near Perv Parkway," Gus mumbled.
"What?"
"'Perv Parkway. It runs along Highway 101. Because of laws that limit how close sex offenders can live to parks or schools, there are only a few places in the city where they can live. That part of the interstate has the highest number of sexual offenders in the city."
"Dude, how the hell do you know that?"
"Because, Shawn, unlike you, I care about our city's crime statistics."
"That's disturbing."
"That's practical. We're employed by a police station, Shawn."
"You make me uncomfortable," Shawn whispered.
"Whatever." Gus snatched the yellow pad from Shawn. "Most of these other addresses are near Perv Parkway. Who could Stiles possibly be meeting down there?"
"I think we know the 'who,' Gus. It's the 'why' that matters now."
"I'd just like to go on record saying I'm extremely uncomfortable with every aspect of this investigation. I think I need a shower."
Shawn put the legal pad back where he found it underneath the pile of letters. "Well, scrub up while you can. We're heading over there tomorrow."
"Oh, no we're not. We've gotten too involved as it is. You heard what Lassiter said."
"There was something about 'Google,' right?"
"Forget it, Shawn."
"Gus! I can't go over and hang out with a bunch of pervs by myself. I need you there being all uptight and pretending to judge them and their way of life."
"I do judge them and their way of life."
"See? You're a necessary part of this investigation."
Gus rubbed his neck wearily. "Something about this doesn't feel right, Shawn. This is too easy. A suspected child pornographer returns to town and starts hanging out with a bunch of convicted child molesters? What!?"
"Gus—"
"I think we should just leave this to the police, Shawn."
"Gus," Shawn ran a hand through his hair. "We can figure out what he's doing with the photographs and the videos, and we can find them. We have to." Shawn finished seriously.
"And why is that?"
"We owe it to the kids."
"I don't know why you're so interested in helping out with this case, Shawn, but..." Gus sighed deeply. "As long as you promise nobody we question will touch me, I'll help you out."
Shawn grinned. "I'll do my best."
Gus looked over at the side table. Crumbs were sprinkled everywhere and a damp ring marred the polished wood. "Dude, look at this mess! Does the kitchen look like this?"
"I may or may not have spilled his new jar of Miracle Whip all over the kitchen counter."
Gus glared.
"I didn't!" Shawn said. He could feel his pocket vibrate as his phone signaled a new text message. "You've got to stop taking me so seriously," he told his partner as he pulled the phone from his pocket.
A text message from his father popped on the screen. It was curt, as Henry's messages tended to be, and stated only "Call me. NOW."
"I try not to take you seriously at all," Gus answered as swept bread crumbs into his hand. "Come on. We've got a lead, now let's get out of here. Who are you texting?"
"My father." Shawn announced as he clicked through the message. "Apparently he needs to talk to me."
"Why?"
"If I had to guess, he's just found out about Stiles."
A/N: Guys, I think I bit off more than I can chew with this story. I somehow, inadvertently, started a case-fic...sort of. It's not a traditional case-fic in that we know who did what; it's more of a matter of describing how. Nevertheless, I want all the details to work out and make a logical story. So, I've had to scrap my usually writing method of typing aimlessly and seeing what comes of it. (Oh my god, did I just admit that?) I don't know how I feel about the voice of this story. I feel stuck in a rut. I feel like I use too many adverbs. I feel that I may be able to fix it before the story gets any deeper.
Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed! I know it's been slow going and I can't promise that it will get any faster. But, I can promise that it will get finished. If I may ask a favor, when (or if...I won't be presumptuous) you leave a comment, tell me your biggest case-fic pet peeve. I need some different perspectives so I can make this story as strong as possible. Thanks again! =D
(P.S. Would anybody be offended if the next chapter featured Shawn and Gus hanging out with a senile old flasher? Because that's where it's headed.)
(P.P.S. I made Perv Parkway up...but there are a whole lotta sex offenders near Highway 101 in the city of Santa Barbara. I know because I looked it up. Because I love you all that much.)
