Psyc 03_The Call of the Mild by William Rabkin

tall with the bleached blond hair and ropy muscles that come from a lifetime of playing beach volleyball. His uniform seemed to have been designed to show off his physique—short khaki pants that exposed most of his thighs and a baby blue polo shirt that was tight across the pecs and featured the stencil of a badge and official logo Gus couldn’t make out from across the room. A holstered gun hung off his thigh.
    “Stand down, Officer,” Lassiter said. He reached into his breast pocket for his ID. But before he could get his hand near his lapel, the blond man had his gun out and leveled at the detective.
    “Don’t move!”
    “It’s going to be hard to get out if I don’t move,” Shawn said.
    The blond man shifted his gun sights to Shawn, then back to Lassiter.
    “You know, sometimes I can go for an entire week without having a gun pointed at me,” Shawn said. “Now it’s two in one day. Go figure.”
    “Officer!” Lassiter’s bark brought the blond man’s attention—and his gun—back in his direction. “I am Detective Carlton Lassiter of the Santa Barbara Police Department. I am reaching very slowly into my pocket to pull out my ID.”
    “You just make sure it’s nice and slow, ‘Detective,’” the man said.
    “Now that’s impressive,” Shawn said.
    “What’s that?” Gus said.
    The man kept his attention focused on Lassiter.
    “Most people would feel the need to use air quotes to put that much condescension around the word ‘detective,’ ” Shawn said. “Blond guy did it with his voice alone.”
    Very slowly, Lassiter reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a wallet, then let it fall open to reveal his badge and ID. “I’ve identified myself,” Lassiter said. “Now you.”
    “Officer Chris Rasmussen, Isla Vista Foot Patrol,” the blonde said. “All my ID is right here on my chest.” He patted the insignia on his polo shirt. “We small-town law enforcement personnel don’t get a pretty tin ‘badge’ like they give the big-city police folk.”
    Now it was Gus’ turn to be impressed. “You’re right,” he said to Shawn. “I know both of his hands were occupied, but I could swear I saw air quotes.”
    “Now that I know who you are, maybe you could tell me what you’re doing in this house?” Rasmussen said. He lowered the gun to his side, but he didn’t holster it.
    “These two men are private detectives who have occasionally helped out the Santa Barbara Police Department,” Lassiter said.
    “Occasionally?” Shawn said.
    “That’s fair,” Gus said. “We don’t solve all their cases.”
    “Just the hard ones,” Shawn said.
    “Silence!” Lassiter snapped, then turned back to Rasmussen.
    “They called me suggesting that the occupant of this house, one Ellen Svaco, might be in jeopardy. When we got here, the door was open—”
    “And it sounded like David Hedison was about to be eaten by a spider,” Shawn said.
    Lassiter glared at Shawn, then stepped aside, giving Officer Rasmussen a view into the bathroom. “Unfortunately we were too late. I’ve called it in, and the forensics team will be here in a few minutes.”
    Rasmussen’s gaze flickered as he saw the body, but it hardened again as he turned back to Lassiter. “So you got a call and you just hoofed it on down here without a care in the world.”
    “My ‘care’ was for the victim,” Lassiter said.
    “That was pretty good, too,” Gus said to Shawn.
    “Worth a one-handed air quote at best,” Shawn said. “I’ve heard Lassie much more condescending than that.”
    “Was there some other ‘care’ I should have been concerned with?” Lassiter said.
    “Much better,” Shawn said to Gus.
    “Something we small-town law folk call jurisdiction,” Rasmussen said. “If you have reason to suspect a crime has taken place on my streets, you call me first.”
    “You’re kidding, right?” Lassiter said.
    “Try me.”
    “Listen, McCloud,” Lassiter said. “This isn’t Dogpatch and it