“I will if you will,” Shawn said.

“You most certainly will not,” Lassiter said.

“Shawn,” Gus whispered fiercely, “there’s something you need to know. Now.”

“The Santa Barbara Police Department doesn’t need your help on this one,” Lassiter said. “Which you might have been able to figure out by the simple fact that nobody asked for it.”

The other police detective pulled the handkerchief away from her face, revealing the bright eyes and easy smile of Juliet O’Hara. Except that right now her eyes were slightly dimmed by tears, and her smile was anything but easy-the stench was proving stronger even than her own fierce will. And her will rarely lost a test of strength. The youngest detective on the squad, O’Hara was almost always underestimated by men who saw her pretty face and assumed she was soft. It annoyed her, but she’d learned how to use their assumptions against them. “Yes, Carlton, somebody did.” She turned to Shawn. “You could have returned one of my calls.”

“Sorry. I’ve been away from my phones.”

“Then how did you know to come here?” she said.

“Jules, Jules, Jules,” Shawn said, “do you really need to ask?”

Lassiter looked at her as if she’d gotten up before she’d finished her time in the naughty spot. “You called him?”

“I did.”

“You don’t have the authority to authorize an unauthorized consultant. You need to have that cleared by Chief Vick.”

“Her exact words were, ‘Do whatever you want as long as you don’t make me come to that hellhole,’” O’Hara said.

“And what is it you want to do, Juliet?” Shawn said. “I mean, deep down.”

“I want to clear this case so I never have to smell this smell again,” she said.

“You heard the lady, Lassie,” Shawn said. “Let’s solve us a murder. What do we hear from the CSI boys?”

District Attorney Bert Coules stepped out from around the side of the shack. “Mostly retching,” Coules said. “Occasional vomiting. A lot of moans.”