(New Psych WIP) Where There's Smoke, There's Murder
Part One: Loose Threads (Read on AO3)
“You're staring again”.
All it takes are those three little words to ruin his day.
Carlton grits his teeth and drops his gaze back to the mountain of paperwork in front of him, ignoring the huff Juliet makes from her desk. He forces his head down, determined to keep his eyes safely glued to the photos from their most recent case.
A case that, by all accounts, should have Carlton’s full attention:
Two bodies without any leads or threads to pull at, and so far neither victim seems related to each other.
The timeline seems to move through two distinct phases, beginning with a disappearance from the victims home. No fingerprints, and minimal evidence of a struggle except for a single used matchstick on the pillow of the missing person’s bed.
The second phase ends two weeks later when the body is found deceased in the home they disappeared from, tucked into bed as though merely sleeping. The truly weird thing is the matchbooks, missing a single match, left in the victim's mouth.
Both murders were cleanly executed, and certainly premeditated.
Which is about the only conclusion they have so far.
Carlton lifts his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, letting his eyes close for just a moment before opening them at the sound of another file thwacking the top of his growing pile of paperwork. Carlton sighs as he lifts his gaze to the Junior Detective.
He likes Juliet --well, likes is maybe a stretch.
He appreciates O’Hara as a partner. Over the last year that they’ve gotten to know each other Carlton’s discovered that she is a fast learner, if a bit naive at times, based on her tolerance for tweedle dee and tweedle dumber. She is opinionated but not judgemental, which balances out Carlton's own habit of writing things off too quickly every now and again.
On the other hand, quick judgements in the field have saved his bacon more times than he can count over his career, so maybe he’s owed a few.
But, it’s not like they’re friends or anything, she’s his partner, a damn good colleague, and that’s enough for them.
Juliet tilts her head towards the foyer where she had caught his wandering gaze earlier, “I mean I get it, he definitely doesn't need to be here,” she says just loud enough for him to hear her over the general buzz of the station, “but it's kind of sweet, like watching a lost puppy or something”.
Carlton scowls in response but says nothing as movement by the foyer draws both their gazes once again, just in time to see Shawn waving goodbye to a tall man who reluctantly waves back as he finally exits the building.
The worst part about this whole thing is that no one else seems to agree with Carlton --not that he’s advertised his opinion to anyone but Juliet, but come on.
Even Guster doesn't seem annoyed, despite the way this stranger has seemingly wormed his way into their lives. Distracting everyone with his presence, all gangly limbs and fancy blazers, with a new murderer on the loose?
It’s irresponsible is what it is.
Normally Shawn and Guster with their persistent antics, and constant proximity to department cases, would be enough to make Carlton question his choice in career for willingly working with the phoney psychic, but his ire has been mostly directed at another source lately.
Shawn Spencer's apparent new boyfriend.
It wouldn't be a big deal if the other man simply stayed in his lane, dropping off his partner for work, like Buzz's fiance does, before, and most importantly, leaving without popping inside for a lengthy visit.
The man doesn't bring anything to the table other than awkward small talk and a bad habit of playing with his wire framed glasses whenever someone looks him in the eyes for too long.
Sure, the man is tall, if you like that sort of thing, and on the thinner side. The sweater vests and perfectly pressed collared shirts make him look like a nerdier Chandler Bing more than anything --and that can't be anyone's type.
Honestly, how Spencer put up with someone so, so, milquetoast, was beyond him.
Carlton brought it up only once with O'Hara after a long day, and has regretted it ever since given the number of times she's taken to lightly defending the other man to him.
“He seems nice, isn't that enough Carlton? It's like you're jealous or something”.
Which was so insulting that Calrton didn't speak to her for a day and a half, only grunting out a pale acknowledgement when Juliet brought him a peace offering from the fancy cafe that would have been way out of her normal route to work.
Because he isn't jealous.
Jealous of what? Some gangly limbed, dork who managed to somehow snag the biggest idiot on the planet?
Just who the hell was he supposed to be jealous of?? Typically one had to want something in order to be jealous and Carlton sure as hell didn't want Spencer.
Ridiculous.
“Jules! Lassie, how are my favorite detectives?”
Carlton groans, speaking of ridiculous.
He watches as Shawn bounds over, a spring in his step and over-styled bed-head that looks as though fingers were only just removed from where they roughly ran over his scalp. Carlton shakes himself at the strange thought and hurries to shuffle the papers and photos together, closing the case file before Spencer can get any closer.
Guster trails behind him, hands in his pockets and an apologetic half smile on his face as he nods at Juliet and Carlton.
“I was just telling Gus here” Shawn says as he claps a hand on the other man's shoulder, “that the four of us should try out for Family Feud, I think we'd make an incorrigible team”.
Guster rolls his eyes as he lifts his hand to remove Shawns from his shoulder, “I think you mean incredible and that's for families, Shawn”.
Shawn shrugs as he takes a strange half step hop that lands him on top of Carlton's desk, pushing several paper piles into one another and making the pencils in his SBPD Annual Summer Picnic mug jump nearly out of their home. Carlton reaches out to halt the movement of papers, clenching his fists to stop himself from pushing Spencer away from his new perch. The last thing he needs is another warning from Vick about putting his hands on the consultant.
“I've heard it both ways and since when are we not a family? We could be cousins, brothers and sisters from other misters--”
“Spencer,” Carlton bites out as the paper piles on his desk shift again when Shawn turns fully to face him, a thousand watt grin stretched across his stupid face.
“Get off my damn desk”.
Shawn opens his mouth as he leans in closer, no doubt some asinine rebuttal on the tip of his idiot tongue, a cheshire smile pulling at his lips that slowly creates soft crinkles at the corners of his hazel eyes --or are they green, it’s harder to tell from this close--
“Lassiter, O’Hara,” Vick calls from her open doorway just outside the bullpen, startling himself and Shawn enough that the psychic nearly tumbles off the desk in his haste to pull away.
Carlton looks away to find Juliet staring at him, eyebrows raised. Guster meanwhile has pulled Shawn up, hissing emphatically into his partner's ear as the pair start something resembling a vicious whisper fight.
A few other beat cops appear to be watching the four of them from their desks with amused expressions, until they meet Carlton’s glare. Barnes and Lovelle hastily attempt to cover up their eavesdropping with a loud conversation about the weather while Turner makes a show of actually spilling his coffee all over his desk before running to the kitchen for something to clean up his mess.
Juliet hazards a quick glance at them before stepping in closer to Carlton and dropping her voice low to say, “noooo, totally not jealous at all, partner”.
Carlton opens his mouth to argue when Vick clears her throat as she walks closer to the four of them, her hands now firmly on her hips --which is never, ever, a good sign.
“I have enough on my plate dealing with a child at home, I do not need to parent my staff, so if we are all quite finished?”
Guster and Shawn stop talking and attempt to stand at attention but for whatever reason have chosen to begin intermittently elbowing each other in the sides, as though the Chief can’t see what they are doing.
Vick sighs, lifting one hand from her hip to pinch into her eyes before letting it drop away, “we’ve got another body on Oak, take Spencer and Guster with you, fill them in on the way”.
“But, Karen--Chief,” Carlton tries as he stands up from his desk, ignoring the way Guster and Spencer surreptitiously low-five each other.
“I’ll expect a report by noon so I’d hurry if I were you four,” Vick bites out as she continues to her office, “and where the hell is Turner, there is coffee all over his desk!”
She sighs loudly, only looking back at them once with a single raised eyebrow before closing her door with a soft snick and a shake of her head.
The bullpen is completely silent for a beat, save for the squeak of rubber soles as Turner races back to his desk, cursing under his breath with paper towel trailing behind him like a cape, the idiot having taken the entire roll from the kitchen.
God these fucking people.
“So,” Shawn claps his hands together before throwing one thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the parking lot in the front of the building, “Oak street? I think there’s a smoothie place nearby, we can totally stop for drinks before we visit the spirits, pineapple strengthens the connection after all”.
Jesus Christ, if Spencer wasn’t careful he’d be visiting the spirits for real.
***
Black and whites litter Oak street by the time they pull up.
There are no lights or sirens but their presence is still enough to draw neighbors out of their homes and onto their lawns, craning their necks and standing on tip toes to look over fences at the scene down the cul de sac.
Carlton grits his teeth as they walk up the drive, stepping over police tape and walking past those processing the scene. The front door is open and McNab waves them over, his usual boyish grin firmly in-place despite the fact that there has been yet another murder.
McNab waits patiently for the four of them to pull on their gloves and paper booties over their shoes in the foyer, Carlton does his best to ignore the way Spencer giggles at ‘Booties’ while Guster snaps a glove at his partner.
Deep breathes he thinks to himself, trying to remember the technique that his marriage counsellor taught him during their last session, which had in fact turned out to be their final session after Victoria decided to stop attending. He swallows down resentment, taking in another deep breath through his nose.
It was something about squares or pinwheels; the technique will probably come back to him at some point.
“Who called it in?” Juliet asks as they make their way further inside.
The house is decent sized, with a nice flow to the main floor. Plenty of south facing windows, which would make it way easier to cool this place in the Santa Barbara heat. Huh, Carlton looks around, taking in the built-in shelving and reading nook in the corner; lots of potential hiding places for guns too. But, the main floor is just a bit too open for his taste, the back door can be seen from the front entryway through the kitchen, plus the doggy door flap at the bottom would need to go and would be finicky to fix.
Not that he’s seriously looking, he just finished unpacking his new place after the whole surprise party incident. And who knows if this place would even be on the market.
“Their cleaner found her, she’s pretty shaken up but gave her statement,” Buzz says, taking out a small notepad from his shirt pocket and flipping it open to the most recent page, “Rebecca Lars, she’s worked part time with the Solare’s for the last three years. Cleans Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays from around nine to noon, but she got in early today”.
“Was anyone else home?” Carlton asks, ignoring the way Shawn and Guster move in his periphery, taking a wide walk around the space, not lingering on any particular section.
“Not that she knew of, the kids are with their dad and grandparents this week, divorced,” McNab adds as almost an afterthought.
Divorced. Just like the last two victims.
“Good thing there was no forced entry, you don’t see solid mahogany doors like those anymore and I bet they’d be a bitch to replace eh Gus,” Shawn says loudly as he slips past Cartlon and Juliet, making his way to the stairs.
“That's right,” McNab says after a beat, “man Shawn, your visions are always so clear when we’re on scene, it’s almost spooky”.
Guster makes a choking noise as he flies up the stairs after his partner, hissing something under his breath as he moves. Carlton rolls his eyes, doing his best to stop himself from contaminating the gloves he just put on by strangling them.
Juliet elbows him gently, tilting her head towards the stairs, “I don’t know about you but I’m not optimistic about Buzz’s babysitting skills, we should head up”.
The enclosed L-Shape staircase is covered nearly wall to wall with photos of dogs and children of various ages, ranging from toddler to high school graduation. Moments captured on film from the life of this family. Carlton feels a slight pang in his chest as he thinks back to the photos littering the walls of his family home, him and Lauren captured in bright colour and some artful black and white when his mother was feeling particularly avant garde during his teen years. He watches as Juliet lingers on the bend, her eyes flicking from picture to picture with a grimace, at least he’s not the only one.
He clears his throat, drawing O’Hara’s gaze back to himself before tipping his head towards the landing, they have a job to do after all. She takes a deep breath through her nose and nods before wordlessly continuing the climb to the second floor.
The master bedroom is to the left of the landing and where Laura Solare was found, just like the previous victims. They linger just outside, standing in the hallway, as the photographer steps back into the doorframe for a wide shot of the room before snapping the lens cap back on. Clark Mulroney is a decent crime scene photographer, well, at least he hasn’t murdered anyone yet like the last guy the SBPD had on their payroll. He’s only been in the job a few months so time will tell. Clark keeps to himself most of the time, sometimes stopping to chat at crime scenes or in the bullpen, but otherwise getting in and out only when needed --which is perhaps the man's best quality, unlike some people he unfortunately knows.
Carlton grunts at the man as they make their way through the door to the bedroom, Clark shoots him and Juliet a grin, dimples popping as he twists the flash attachment off of the camera before placing his equipment into the padded bag in the corner of the room.
“A little late to the party huh guys?” Clark says as he zips up the bag and hoists it over his shoulder, “you know, I didn’t see psychic-nanny on the list of duties when I took this job but I can roll with the punches--”
“Hey,” Shawn huffs from the end of the bed where he is crouched down, nose almost to the lavender duvet, while Guster stands beside him turned away from the body in the bed, “Psychic Nanny sounds like an amazing title of a best selling YA series or NBC’s new fall favourite so”.
Shawn looks up, winking at Clark, “jokes on you because we are totally stealing that, right Gus?”
Guster swallows heavily, shaking his head as he shuts his eyes, “Shawn you got maybe thirty more seconds before I have to be anywhere but this room, do you really want to waste it talking about how that could totally be a relaunch of the Babysitters club?”
Shawn snaps his fingers as he stands up, stepping around McNab to make his way over to the headboard, “you know that’s right,” the fake-psychic chirps, his hazel eyes darting all around the room before he stops, tilting his head to the side.
Laura Solare lays before them, tucked into the lavender blankets, dressed in pajamas, her pale skin just beginning to turn purple where her body directly sits against the mattress. Her expression is lax as though in sleep but her mouth sags slightly, like it was closed for her which--
Shawn gasps, closing his eyes as he staggers back a half step, drawing their gazes, McNab reaches out to steady him but Shawn manages to stay upright as he raises two fingers to his temple, pointing at the bed with his free hand.
“We have another matchbook murder,” Shawn says, putting on a breathy affect that immediately has Carlton sucking his teeth. He catches O’Hara’s eye and sighs as she simply shrugs with a small half smile before pulling out a notebook and pen from the side pocket of her blazer.
“That’s not news Spencer,” Carlton huffs, crossing his arms across his chest, needing to keep his hands from grabbing the pair of idiots and tossing them out of his crime scene.
Shawn raises a single finger in front of his face, “oh yee of shrimpy faith, speaking of; Gus, we are totally going for Shrimp Po’boys later”.
Guster groans from his spot on the far corner of the room
“Shawn, how about you tell us what you saw,” Juliet says with the patience of some yet unknown saint.
“The spirits tell me that our perp has switched up his MO, I think you’ll find that the matchbook in Ms. Solare’s mouth is missing not one,” he says triumphantly, “but two matches”.
Juliet blinks, before slowly jotting down a note in her book as Carlton steps forward towards the bed, gently pulling the victim's mouth open. It moves easily, the cold flesh still soft under his gloved fingers.
Juliet makes a humming noise, scribbling more on her notepad as she pushes past Gus, McNab, and Shawn to slip around to the other side of the bed.
“Blood pooling but no Rigor Mortis,” she mutters almost to herself before looking up at Carlton, “and the mouth was closed this time”.
Carlton hears Clark unzip the camera bag once more, pausing to give him a second to screw the flash attachment back on.
“Sorry gang,” Clark says as he moves in closer to take several pictures of the open mouth, “I would have kept my camera ready if I had seen--”
“Dont’ make incompetence a habit Mulroney, we get enough of that from these two,” Carlton growls, cutting off the other man as he reaches for the tweezers the Juliet holds out to him without having even asked.
Sitting on Laura’s tongue is a single black matchbook, the same kind found in the mouths of the last two bodies. The previous books had no distinguishable logos or markings of any kind, making the search for the manufacturer extremely frustrating and yet another loose thread they couldn’t pull.
However, the book that Carlton gently picks up with the tweezers before placing in a plastic evidence bag that Juliet also hands him --they really are getting to be seamless, he should take her out for a beer sometime soon, has a single white crown logo and an address printed in matching bold white.
Carlton zips up the bag before holding it aloft for the room to see and for Clark to snap another photo of the evidence before he catches himself looking at Spencer. He falters slightly when he sees the way the other man’s eyes trace over him, a soft grin pulling at his lips.
If Carlton thought about it for longer than a minute it almost looked as though Spencer was checking him out, which--
Absolutely not, that would be utterly ridiculous and not at all what he wants.
Carlton clears his throat, tamping down the sudden urge to grin, “I think we finally found our first lead”.
