Know When to Walk Away
by Tazmy

The big reveal was Shawn's favorite part of Psych. He loved gathering everyone together and playing a zany Sherlock Holmes. Who dunnit? How'd they do it? Shawn didn't just hand the answers over, he gave them with style.

“And that is why,” he exclaimed, holding up both his arms as though he were a preacher praying over the sick, “that Jesse killed her. He knew she'd outsmarted him, and that was the one thing he could never accept. It wasn't about the money anymore. It was about pride.”

“I think he's seen a few too many mystery films.” Jesse Jenkins was the suspect in question. He stood between Jules and Lassiter, his back straight and a large smile spreading across his face. Far from worried, he seemed to think the entire charade was a joke.

“Oh, but you did,” Shawn continued. “The spirits tell me you will find the answer in the financial report. No, wait, money in the stereo? The certificate of deposit?” He faked confusion, cuing Gus in.

“A CD in a stereo? You mean the CD drive?”

“Yes! Of course. The CD drive!”

Lassiter inched over to the stereo which was just inches from Jesse's television set. He pressed the eject button and out came a Johnny Cash CD.

“It's not a crime to like The Gambler,” Jesse supplied.

“No, it's not,” Jules interjected.

“What are we supposed to be looking for?” Lassiter crossed his arms, glaring at Shawn.

Shawn swiped the disk from Lassiter's grasp. He'd checked before calling them and The Gambler was most definitely not in the CD drive at the time.

“No no no. I'm sensing the disk was changed recently. There was something else there. A woman screaming, barely audible over the loud rock music.”

Shawn knew faces and he knew people. He could sense a liar from a dozen miles away, but even he would have been fooled by Jesse's saddened eyes had he not known the truth. “I'm sorry that your client was murdered, Mr. Spencer. I know it must be very hard for you to know the killer is still out there, but this fantasy of yours isn't going to bring her back.”

“It's not a fantasy!” Shawn yelled, the situation quickly slipping out of his grasp. It had taken forever just to find one scrap of evidence. Discovering the CD had been his one serendipitous breakthrough.

“Do you have anything else?” Lassiter didn't look smug, which was strange because Shawn knew he'd have paid for something like this to happen. After years of working with the psychic, Lassie had grown accustomed to Shawn's dramas and the fact Shawn was normally right, but that didn't mean Shawn didn't annoy the hell out of Lassiter. Shawn, for his part, held no delusions to this effect. So why wasn't Lassie rubbing in the mistake?


“Evidence?” Shawn squeaked, forcing his mental gears to turn in triple time. The answer never came. “I know deep down that he did it. He killed her. He found out that she had hired me to retrieve the money and he stalked her and he lured her to his apartment and murdered her in cold blood.”

“Anything tangible?”

Deflated, Shawn turned to Gus who merely shrugged.

Jesse leaned casually against the door frame. “You gotta know when to walk away, Mr. Spencer. Leave now and I'll overlook the fact you brought the police to my apartment under false allegations.”

“False? Excuse me? Have you looked up false in the dictionary? I'm sure my partner here would tell you that it is not another word for true. The spirits do not lie and they say you are a liar liar pants of fire.”

“It's over, Shawn,” Jules said lightly grabbing his arm to lead him out of the apartment. She whispered gently, “We'll figure this out later.”

Later never came.

Despite months of searching, Shawn's powers of observation failed him. He knew why. He know how. He just couldn't prove anything.

Music erupted from the bar speakers as Shawn signaled for another drink. He toyed with an empty tumbler before abandoning it for the full one. The Saturday Night Special--a mixture of scotch and other alcohols-- burned down his throat.  The drink was of his own making, used only on those special occasions when the world was turned against him.

Through blurry eyes, he noticed the clock's short hand turn to one. He still had a few moments before Jules showed up to drag his drunk ass back home. At least he had drunk dialed her and not Lassiter or the Chief. It was hard to tell which keys he was pressing.

“Drowning your sorrows isn't going to help your case.”

Shawn froze, immediately placing the voice. Despite the lack of reaction, Jesse slipped into the adjacent stool.

“I don't drink with murderers,” Shawn said simply, far past wanting to make any jokes.

“What about innocent men?”

Glass shattered under Shawn's tightened hold.

“You're paying for that!” shouted the large, glaring bartender with the lopsided toupee.

Shawn didn't respond, hardly noticing the blood trickling down his hand where glass had pierced skin. It'd been a long time since he'd felt fury this pure before. The last time he'd left Santa Barbara, this time all he could do was order another drink.

“That's gotta hurt.” Jesse swallowed his own scotch.

“I hope you enjoy your drink. They don't really have much of it in prison. I do hear you get cake once a week though.”

“You gotta face it, Mr. Spencer, you've been beaten. I don't know who killed your client, but clearly they're smarter than you. Give up. Walk away.”

“You killed her.”

“Whatever you say,” Jesse chuckled. “I'm just curious, exactly when are you planning to prove it? Next month? Next year? I'm just wondering when I need to clean my apartment for company since you'll undoubtedly fabricate some evidence against me.”

Shawn didn't know what came over him. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the rage. Maybe it was the overwhelming sense of failure infuriated by watching a free murderer drink scotch next to him. Whatever it was, Shawn acted. His bloody fist collided with Jesse's cheek, knocking the murderer off his bar stool. “You. Killed. Her.”

“Shawn!”

Shawn half swung around, half-fell into his stool at the sound of Jules voice.

Jesse smiled, wiping smears of red from his skin. “Now that was stupid.” He showed no signs of retaliating, but Shawn was ready if he did.

“Hey, no fighting!” the bartender shouted, pointing to a sign with large red letters that read: Got a problem? Take it outside. -Management

“I was just leaving anyway,” Shawn replied. Jules was at his side now, helping lift him off the floor.

“Ah, Detective, you have impeccable timing,” Jesse told her, lifting himself to his feet. “Needless to say, I plan to press charges.”

“I'm off duty.”

“I'm pretty sure that doesn't matter.”

Jules glanced nervously between Shawn and Jesse. With a deep sigh, she settled the drunk back onto the stool and started digging through her purse. “He's right, Shawn. I have to call this in.”

“I'm pretty sure murder trumps assault,” Shawn slurred, feeling the room sway around him. Could he have been more of an idiot? His dad would kill him. Gus would kill him. Heck, Lassie would probably be waiting to mock him, which was much worse than killing him, really.


The remainder of the night passed in a blur.  Saturday Night Specials had a way of kicking him in the ass.

He sort of remembered Jules staying there through most of it, even going so far as to wait by his holding cell while he mumbled drunkenly about this and that.

He did remember her whispering darkly, “I'll take care of this for you. Don't worry.”

Her words brought a certain warmth that finally allowed him to sleep for the first time in days.

When he awoke, Jules was gone. In her place, Lassie stared through the holding cell bars. “You're an idiot,” he said.

“Good morning to you, too,” Shawn replied, cuddling his aching head.

Lassie wasn't smiling, which made no sense whatsoever. If anyone was to take pleasure out of Shawn's predicament, it would be Lassie.

The cell door opened. The cot buckled further under the weight of two figures instead of one.

“You're an idiot.”

“Yes, I believe you already mentioned that part. How about we skip to the part where you gloat, point and laugh, and I find some witty remark to put you in your place.”

“How about we skip to the part where I tell you 'you're an idiot'?”

“Um, hello, that was in the past. You can't skip to the past. Unless you have a time machine, of course. In which case, I call shotgun.”

His words sounded hollow as he went through the motions. Shawn stared at his bandaged hand, remembering the shattered glass. His hand hadn't hurt at the time. It still didn't.

“I know what you're going through,” Lassie said, shifting uncomfortably. “We've all been there.”

“Been where? A holding cell? Lassie, are you secretly a hardened criminal? You can tell me; I'll keep it quiet.”

“There's no such thing as a perfect record. You can't solve every case. Eventually one was bound to come along that you couldn't crack.”

“Or not. I haven't given up yet. I usually leave that part to Santa Barbara's finest.”

“For crying out loud, Spencer, I'm trying to help you. Do you mind?”

Shawn winced at Lassie's loud voice. “Think you can talk any louder?”

“Sorry. Listen, it's okay not to give up. Everyday that I'm out there I'm still considering all the cases that went unsolved and I'll keep thinking about them until the day I retire and beyond.”

“Wow, that's so comforting. I'm glad you were able to come here in my time of need and offer those inspiring words.”

Lassie bit back an angry reply as evidenced by the tightened fist. At last he answered, “You never really give up, but you do move on.”

“Is that what you tell the victims?” The question was out before Shawn could stop it. So much for hiding behind jokes.

“All I'm saying is that it gets easier. If you need help getting through it, I'll be there and so will O'Hara and Mr. Guster.”

Lassie exited the cell before Shawn could offer another reply. He made it halfway down the hall before Shawn called after him.

“I didn't think it was protocol to leave a cell door open.”

“It's not. You're free to go.”

Suspicion held Shawn in place. “Why?”

“O'Hara convinced the SOB to drop all charges.”

“Really?  How?”

Lassie shrugged. “Didn't ask.”

Shawn smiled for the first time in days. He'd rarely experienced Jules's intimidating side, but it was definitely there. Jules's wrath turned on Jesse was definitely worth a gleeful chuckle.

The moment passed quickly, however. Shawn stared at the open cell with bated breath. He had a choice. He could spend the rest of his life chasing failure or he could move on and help others. Maybe everyone was right; it was time to walk away.