Shawn thought this over and reluctantly came to the same conclusion. With a heavy sigh he stepped between the two policemen. “I’ve seen this scene in a hundred movies, and it never makes any sense. You’re both on the same side.”

“He’s right,” Gus said. “You both want the same thing.”

“Well, not all the same things,” Shawn said. “Officer Rasmussen clearly desires a tan that will put George Hamilton to shame, while Lassie aspires to the subtler shades of your average mushroom. But I think we can all agree that what you both want most of all is to find the person who killed Ellen Svaco.”

“Stay out of this, Spencer,” Lassiter said.

At the sound of the name, Rasmussen’s head swiveled over to Shawn. “Spencer?” He stared. “I thought I recognized you. Are you Shawn Spencer of Psych?”

“So my fame has traveled all the way to Isla Vista,” Shawn said. “My master plan is working. Soon they’ll know Psych even as far away as Oxnard.”

Rasmussen walked over to Shawn, holstering his gun as he went. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Well, thanks,” Shawn said.

“Your father is my hero,” Rasmussen said, giving Shawn’s hand an enthusiastic pump. “The greatest cop this state has ever seen. I used to read about him in the papers. Sometimes I even wish he could have been my dad.”

“There were times I wished exactly the same thing,” Shawn said.

“He’s the reason I became a police officer,” Rasmussen said. “If only I could work a case with him my life would be complete.”

“Hard to imagine such a rich life isn’t complete already,” Gus said.

“Indeed,” Shawn said. “Too bad my dad is retired.”

Outside the bungalow a black crime scene van pulled up to the curb.

“But of course, no one ever really leaves the Santa Barbara Police Department,” Lassiter said. “I talked to Henry just the other day and he was saying how much he missed the life.”