rockinhamburger

Title: Cause and Effect (Part 3/4)
Author:

rockinhamburger aka Nikki
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Detective Carlton Lassiter is named primary investigator on a particularly close-to-home case in which Shawn's not available for a consult -- because he's the victim. As Lassiter searches for Shawn's attacker, and Shawn lies in a comatose state, he begins to do some inner soul-searching. Struggling to remain objective in light of his new, alarming feelings for Shawn Spencer, can he overcome his insecurities and prove exactly why he's the youngest Head Detective to ever be named to the force?
Word Count: 18,850!
Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own Psych, as it belongs to the wonderful Steve Franks, and the lovely USA Network. I just like spending stupid amounts of time on these characters!
Notes: Firstly, I need to give my eternal love and thanks to

brevityis, my beta-reader, who (perhaps unwisely) offered her brilliant editing services to me shortly after I started writing this monster. She is entirely responsible for its coherency, and she deserves much more than this measly shout-out. Thank you so much, hon! Additional thanks to

deadlybride and

luna_moonsilver for the extra encouragement.

There are a few legal details later in this story that I needed to go off-book with. If you are familiar with criminal law, you may find this aspect somewhat grating, and I apologize ahead of time for it. I assure you it is for the good of the story, and that it isn't anything too serious!

"There is no den in the world to hide a rogue. Commit a crime, and the earth is made of glass."

-Ralph Waldo Emerson.

--

The following morning, Carlton began filling out the paperwork on Shawn’s case. He made a quick run over to Emcare, and stood at the door of the hospital room as Shawn filled out the written statement of his attack.

O’Hara spent the better part of the day examining the files for Peters and Meyer. From the information she had gathered, Peters had a misdemeanour for petty theft and a felony for assault from five years prior, while Meyer had a number of infractions, mostly traffic violations, but nothing serious.

Carlton collected everything they had on the case and handed it off to the Chief, who sent it off to the District Attorney office to be considered.

It was out of Carlton’s hands now, at least until he was called to testify in Court, and that was more distressing than he cared to admit.

***

Carlton spent the next few days on autopilot. Shawn was released from the hospital on Wednesday evening, and Carlton heard through O’Hara that he was staying with his father for a few days. He presumed the eldest Spencer had put his foot down and forced Shawn to come home with him.

Carlton decided to go for a drive the same evening Shawn was released from Emcare. He wound up at the beach, looking out at the ocean, and marvelling – despite the fact that he’d lived by the ocean for most of his life – at how ferocious the waters could be. He wondered if that was how people perceived him: angry and violent.

He could hardly believe that his week had begun with his usual morning coffee and gruff exterior, and was ending with some truly startling revelations about himself, his friends, and his life. It was unnerving, the crazy ride his life was going on, and Carlton didn’t know what else to do besides hold on tight and try not to get bucked off in the process.

***

The preliminaries of the case were being sorted out. Shawn had hired that dip of an attorney, Adam Hornstock. The DAs gave the go-ahead for the case to go to trial, with a jury, and set up the dates for the court appearances. In the meantime, Peters and Meyer posted bail, barred from leaving the state, and hired a defense lawyer by the name of Benjamin Roswell. They were both pleading not guilty to charges of assault, attempted murder, and obstruction of justice.

Carlton kept himself buried in his work but the weeks flew by, and before he knew it, the first day of court proceedings for Shawn’s case was in 12 hours time, and Carlton found himself knocking on Chief Vick’s door.

She beckoned him in and he entered quietly, shutting the door behind him.

She smiled. “Sit down, Carlton.”

Carlton sat. He hesitated momentarily, and then cleared his throat. “Chief, I’d like –“

“Carlton,” Vick cut him off.

“Yes, Chief?”

“You have every morning off this week so that you can attend Mr Spencer’s trial.”

Carlton gaped. He had been about to ask for just that. He glanced away for a moment, and then looked back to Vick without any idea of how to put into words how grateful he was that she… understood.

Finally, he managed a quiet but genuine, “Thank you.”

She smiled again. “You’re welcome. And good luck.” He sat there a beat longer before quietly escorting himself out.

***

He chose the seat in the courtroom that had the best vantage point for taking everything in properly. Henry Spencer sat down next to him wordlessly a few minutes later, and they said nothing to each other as the room slowly filled up around them.

A few minutes later, Guster hurried up the aisle and took the seat on Henry’s other side, saying a quick, out of breath, “Hey.” Henry greeted him and Carlton nodded at him in acknowledgement.

Guster had fairly perfect timing, because next moment Shawn and Hornstock entered the courtroom. Hornstock was dressed in what looked like the same suit he’d worn for the Sandra Panitch case. Shawn was dressed in a dark, pinstriped suit, white shirt, and blue and white tie. He looked really good.

(Suit: http://s7v1.scene7.com/is/image/CharlesTyrwhitt/XSJCHR).

They walked down the aisle toward the swinging gate, and Shawn’s eyes scanned the crowd, coming to rest on Carlton, Henry, and Guster where they were seated. He grinned at them and went to sit down next to Hornstock.

Shortly thereafter, Meyer and Peters were escorted in by their lawyer, Roswell, who, according to the information Carlton had dug up on him, was famous in Santa Barbara for getting sure-thing cases acquitted. The man was dressed in a crisp suit, and he walked with a confident swagger that, coupled with what he knew about the man, made Carlton uneasy.

Carlton focused his attention on the Jury. There were no features that really stood out to him. Everyone seemed fairly normal. He hoped they were a reasonable and intelligent bunch; that they wouldn’t fall for any of the Defense’s tricks.

Carlton’s thoughts were interrupted by the booming voice of the bailiff who was standing off to the side. “All rise for the honourable Judge Everard,” he commanded.

Those assembled rose as the Judge, a pretty, middle-aged woman, entered the room from her chambers and nodded out at the group congregated before her. “Please be seated.”

Everyone sat. Everard herself sat down and cleared her throat, examining the folder in her hands. “Deliberations today, April 22nd, 2009 are regarding the assault and attempted murder of the plaintiff, Mr Shawn Spencer. The accused are Kyle Peters and James Meyer, who have pleaded not guilty to all charges, including obstruction of justice. The incident in question occurred at approximately two am on April 3rd, 2009. Representing Mr Spencer is Prosecution Attorney Adam Hornstock. Mr Peters and Mr Meyer are represented by Defense Attorney Benjamin Roswell. Mr Hornstock, you may call your first witness to the stand.”

Hornstock nodded and stood. “Thank you, your Honour. The Prosecution calls Jeffrey Connor to the stand.”

Jeffrey Connor was seated in the front row, and he stood carefully, walked the short distance to the seat next to Everard and sat down. The Bailiff stepped forward with the Bible, which Jeffrey swore on, and the proceedings began.

Hornstock approached the bench. “Mr Connor, do you own SOHO Restaurant and Music, located at 1221 State Street?”

Jeffrey nodded and smiled politely. “Yes. I’ve owned SOHO for over ten years.”

“And were you working on Thursday, April 2nd and the early hours of Friday, April 3rd of 2009?”

“I was,” Jeffrey replied.

“Was my client, Mr Spencer, at your restaurant on that night?”

“Yes, he most certainly was,” Jeffrey responded, nodding.

“Is there any particular reason you recall Mr Spencer so clearly?” Hornstock asked, hands clasped behind his back.

“Well, Mr Spencer sat right at the bar, where I was for most of the evening, and he entertained a number of my customers with some… um, abilities,” Jeffrey explained, glancing over at the Jury.

“Could you elaborate, please? What abilities are you referring to?” Hornstock asked as he turned slightly to face the jury.

“He demonstrated some… psychic abilities.”

A quiet ripple of mutters went up in the courtroom around Carlton, and Judge Everard pounded her gavel sharply on her desk for quiet. The chatter died down immediately, and Hornstock continued with his questioning.

“I see. What about Mr Peters and Mr Meyer? Were they at SOHO on the evening of April 2nd and 3rd?”

“Yes, they were,” Jeffrey answered.

“And what is it that makes you recall them so clearly, Mr Connor?”

“Well, they were quite rude to the waitress on duty, and she mentioned after they left that they hadn’t left a tip.”

Hornstock nodded. “Do you recall what time the Defendants left?”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” said Jeffrey.

“And how about Mr Spencer? Do you recall what time he left?”

“Yes, he left at around two in the morning; that I do remember because he asked my bartender for her number. She actually gave it to him, too!” Jeffrey said, chuckling, adding, “And she never gives her number out.”

Hornstock turned to face Jeffrey, saying very simply, “Thank you, Mr Connor. Those are all the questions I have for you.”

Hornstock turned and walked back to his seat as Roswell rose and walked over to question Jeffrey. He stood with his body directed halfway between the Jury and Jeffrey. Then he spoke with a clear, smooth voice.

“Mr Connor. You said the plaintiff demonstrated some… ‘psychic’ abilities.” Carlton could hear the quote marks around the word psychic, and even though Carlton himself had often felt disdain toward Shawn over the very same thing, he still felt himself bristle at Roswell’s tone. “Would you care to elaborate on the nature of those abilities?”

Jeffrey said, “Of course. He knew my age, where I was born, and he knew about my… my divorce. Hardly anyone knew about that; I hadn’t told anyone outside of my immediate family. So… I was very impressed. And that was just me. He knew the name and age of everyone who was seated at the bar.” Carlton heard rustling around him as people shifted, clearly trying to get a better look at Shawn. Many members of the Jury directed their attention to Shawn for several moments as well.

Roswell nodded. “I see. Is it possible, Mr Connor, that Mr Spencer is simply hyper-observant? That he is able to size someone or something up by simply looking?”

“Oh, I really don’t think so,” Jeffrey said right away, frowning.

“Let me explain. Is it possible that Mr Spencer saw a tan line on your ring finger where a possible wedding ring once was?”

Jeffrey didn’t say anything right away. Carlton just managed to stop himself from gaping. Roswell really knew what he was doing, and it could prove dangerous for their case. As he sat there considering, he sensed Henry stiffening next to him, his first signs of life since he’d sat down. Out of his peripherals, Carlton saw a dangerous expression appear on Henry’s face.

He was glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of that glare.

Jeffrey seemed to stumble over his response. “Well. I suppose – I mean – it is possible, of course, but – I - he knew my age, too. My exact age…”

“Could it have been a lucky guess?”

Jeffrey looked distressed now. “I – I don’t know.”

Roswell nodded. “Thank you. No further questions, your Honour.”

Judge Everard nodded to Jeffrey, who looked stricken, and said, “You may step down, Mr Connor.” Jeffrey made his way back to his seat in the front row. Carlton really didn’t like where this was going, and judging by the speed with which Hornstock leaned over to confer with Shawn, he wasn’t the only one.

After a brief pause, Hornstock stood up again. “The prosecution would like to call Kimberley Christie to the stand.”

A tall, blonde woman seated next to Connor stood up and made her way to the stand, where she swore to tell the truth and brushed a strand of errant hair behind her ear.

Hornstock approached her. “Ms Christie, are you employed at SOHO Restaurant?”

Kimberley nodded. She seemed nervous. “Yes.”

“How long have you worked there?”

“For almost five years now,” she replied stiffly.

“And in that time, have you gotten to know Mr Connor?”

Kimberley smiled. “Yeah, he’s like a second father to me,” she said, and she seemed to relax slightly.

“I see. Would you say, then, that you have a good rapport with him?”

She nodded. “Definitely. Jeff gets along with everyone at SOHO. Employees there never want to leave.” With every word, she seemed to come out of her nerves, and Carlton had to hand it to Hornstock. He’d definitely put her at ease.

“Kimberley, were you working on the evenings of April 2nd and 3rd, 2009?” Hornstock asked.

“Yes, I work full-time there, usually in the evenings, and my days off are Sunday and Monday,” she said.

“Did you speak with Mr Spencer at all that night?”

“Oh yes. He flirted with me when he came in,” she said, laughing. “That’s nothing new, I get that all the time, but it was the way he flirted that was so striking. He’s… well, he’s very charming.” She flushed slightly, and Carlton could see Shawn grinning. “I have a boyfriend, though, so I told him to try his luck with the bartender.”

“And how about Mr Meyer and Mr Peters? Do you remember them?” Hornstock asked, changing direction slightly.

She scowled now. “Oh, yeah. They were very rude to me.”

“Were you their waitress?”

“Yes,” she said. Carlton couldn’t see that well from his seat, but he wished he could see Meyer and Peters’ expressions.

“In what way were they rude?”

“Oh, they just… It was just the way they were speaking to me; like I’m just some blonde ditz. And then, at the end of the meal, they just left. I mean, they didn’t say thank you, or tip, or anything.”

“Did they pay you? Or someone else at the restaurant?” he asked, stepping closer, swivelling for a moment to direct part of the question in the direction of the Jury, and clasping his hands behind his back again.

“No, they paid me.”

“And do you recall what time they left?”

Kimberley scrunched up her face before responding, “I can’t be completely certain because it was really busy, but I’d say that they left shortly after two in the morning. It was right before Shirley – my co-worker – left. I remember complaining to her about them not leaving a tip, and I know that she leaves at two-thirty on Thursday nights.”

“Thank you, Kimberley; I have no more questions, your Honour.”

He passed Roswell on the way back to his seat, and they seemed to share some sort of look because Hornstock’s expression turned sour. He sat down as Roswell cleared his throat.

“Ms Christie, I just have a point of clarification. Did you see my clients leave the restaurant on the 3rd of April?”

Kimberley shook her head, “No, I didn’t.”

“So then how can you be sure what time they left at?”

“Well, like I said, Shirley finishes at two-thirty, and they were definitely gone by then.”

“Could you have been mistaken? If you did not see them leave, is it possible they left before two am rather than after?”

She looked irritated. “Yes.”

“Thank you, no further questions,” Roswell said, before sauntering back to his seat.

Hornstock rustled some papers, head bowed. He seemed anxious, and he looked over at Shawn, who leaned over and put a hand on his shoulder. Carlton saw him give Hornstock a reassuring squeeze and calming look, and after taking what looked like a deep breath, Hornstock rose steadily to his feet.

He spoke clearly and strongly. “The Prosecution calls Dr George Feinstein to the stand.”

Shawn’s doctor was seated on the opposite side of Kimberley and Connor and one row back, but he stood and walked briskly through the gate and up to the bench. He swore to tell the truth, and Hornstock made his way over for the third time.

“Dr Feinstein, were you assigned Mr Spencer’s case from April 3rd to April 8th?”

“Yes, I was,” Dr Feinstein said. He was dressed in a sharp suit, sporting a clean-cut goatee, and he looked to be in his mid-forties. Carlton rather thought the man radiated a deep sense of trustworthiness simply by how he held himself.

Hornstock nodded. “Would you please give the medical report of Mr Spencer’s injuries to those assembled today?”

“Yes, of course,” the doctor replied, hands folded in his lap. He had a calm and assuring tone to his voice that made Carlton feel inexplicably secure.

“Mr Spencer was admitted to Emcare Hospital at 2:53 am on April 3rd, 2009. He was unconscious and unresponsive to all attempts to rouse him. He was immediately brought to the Intensive Care Unit, where surgeons worked to stop his internal bleeding.” He said all this quite clearly, but he was engaging and not remotely robotic. “I was not assigned to his case until he was moved from Recovery to his own room the following morning. He was still in serious condition at that point; in a comatose state. From the initial MRI I ordered for him, it was clear he had a severe concussion, three fractured ribs, which are what caused the internal bleeding, a broken wrist, and trace amounts of blood in his brain. It was determined that he would not need any further reparative surgery. Over the next several days, his condition continued to improve until he moved into stable condition. He came out of his coma on Sunday, April 5th, shortly after 11 am.”

Hornstock had paced quietly back and forth throughout this monologue, but he stopped and directed his attention between the Jury and Feinstein as he finished. “Thank you for that extensive summary, Dr Feinstein. Would you please tell the court your medical opinion of the likely cause of these injuries?”

Dr Feinstein nodded. “The injuries indicate assault of a brutal kind. The bruising on Mr Spencer’s chest was definitely caused by several hard kicks. Mr Spencer had extensive bruising around his left eye, as well, which was likely caused by something fist-shaped. There was also a large laceration on Mr Spencer’s back which is consistent with marks normally caused by skin scraping against pavement. It is my medical opinion that Mr Spencer was assaulted and dragged to a separate location from the initial assault.” There was an intensity to the doctor’s tone and expression that impressed Carlton. The man clearly meant what he said.

“Do you think there is any other way Mr Spencer could have received those injuries?”

“No, I don’t,” the doctor responded with so much confidence Carlton felt like beaming.

“Thank you, Doctor. I have no further questions, your Honour.”

“Dr Feinstein,” Roswell began, walking forward. “Did you treat Mr Spencer between the time he was awake and when he was released from Emcare?”

The doctor nodded, “I did.”

“What did you think of Mr Spencer’s personality, as a patient?”

“Objection!” Hornstock cried. “How is that relevant?” Carlton privately agreed.

Roswell turned to Judge Everard. “I am merely trying to gain an understanding of Mr Spencer. It would be helpful to have a profile of him as a person.”

Everard seemed to consider this. “I’ll allow it. But tread carefully, Mr Roswell, and don’t stray outside of the case itself.”

Roswell nodded. “Thank you, your Honour.” He turned back to Dr Feinstein. “If you please, Doctor, how would you describe Mr Spencer?”

Dr Feinstein looked thoughtful. “Charming, humourous, friendly. Slightly stubbourn, too. The nurses found him wandering the floor on a number of occasions despite strict instructions to stay bedridden.”

Yeah, that sounded like Shawn.

“And did he attempt to wow you with his… ‘psychic abilities’?”

Dr Feinstein chuckled. “Yes, actually. Upon meeting me, he knew where I studied medicine.”

“Could he have asked someone that information before meeting you?”

Dr Feinstein gave the lawyer before him a strange look. “Highly doubtful. I met him a few short minutes after he woke up, when he’d only spoken to his family and the nurse who rushed off to find me. I’m not one to believe in the paranormal, but it was incredible and very impressive.”

Roswell paused. Clearly this had thrown him slightly. He had obviously expected a different answer. “Do you have any paraphernalia broadcasting where you studied medicine? A pen? A pad of paper?”

Dr Feinstein looked at him with thinly veiled amusement. “No, Mr Roswell, I don’t. I hardly think that’s necessary, do you?”

There was another moment’s pause, and Roswell seemed to decide he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Feinstein, so he said gruffly, “Nothing further, your Honour,” and walked back to his seat.

Looking over, Carlton saw Shawn smirking. He could feel his own mouth turning up in amusement, and in his peripherals, saw Henry looking much less gruff.

It suddenly struck Carlton that he and Henry were quite a bit alike. They both put up similar fronts of inapproachability, but it was clear that Henry was just as thoughtful as Carlton. And that, also like Carlton, he clearly liked and cared about Shawn even if his behaviour sometimes contradicted that.

The Judge began speaking and Carlton was pulled away from his errant thoughts. “Court will re-convene tomorrow morning at 9 am, when the second day of proceedings will begin. Court is dismissed.”

She pounded her gavel and the sound caused immediate movement. People began filing out, and Carlton made a hasty exit, not wanting to run into Shawn. He wasn’t sure he could handle the man’s exuberant energy right now. He just had too much on his mind.

But he couldn’t help wondering when he would be able to handle Shawn, or perhaps more poignantly, if he ever would.

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