He blames it on his father.

Of course it is his father's fault. Grooming your kid from birth to follow in your freak of nature footsteps, like this is still the Middle Ages and the family trade has to be passed down lest the whole clan's livelihood be wiped out in one fell swoop of the plague? Who does that?

The truth is, though, it's become so much a part of his daily operation that he hardly notices anymore. You might as well ask him to stop breathing or start hating pineapple or sit still for an hour. Counting hats, noticing everything, is as natural and uncontrollable to him as his heart beating:

Thump. Hats. Thump. Notice. Thump. Watch. Thump. Remember. Thump. See.

His father taught him this crazy gift, how to see beyond the mundane and reveal greater truths. What his father never taught him was how to not.

Because sometimes a hat is just a hat, even though it changes your whole life.

One hat. Two hats.

One is a Dodgers cap and the other UCSB. Two frat boys are sitting at the bar, hunched over and snickering so likely using fake IDs. They wear baseball caps pulled low over their faces.

Three hats.

A short-order cook wears a black bandana (which Shawn will always contend counts as head gear) as he mans the grill. He is grilling what sounds and smells like burgers, probably for the wannabes.

Three hats.

There are only two other people in the bar: a crusty looking regular nursing cheap beer and the bar's owner/manager, Donnie Skibs.

Shawn hangs back as Juliet and Lassiter go talk to the man. Already, he realizes Donnie Skibs isn't their guy. The detectives do their thing and grill him on his whereabouts the night before when the second girl was attacked. But Donnie is calm and collected, and not at all cocky.

Plus, he is left-handed.

The slanting blue text on the specials board was written by a leftie. Donnie has blue chalk dust smudged on the left side of his apron. A leftie did not beat and strangle Angel Fernandez, a pretty young nurse, to death. A leftie did not leave Sheryl Kane, sociology major, in the ICU fighting for her life.

Three hats.

What is he missing? Donnie Skibs is not their murderer. Who is? Who else had access to the employee files at Driftwood? Attended the monster track rally last weekend? Is right-handed?

Three hats.

He's so close. There's just something missing. What is he missing?

Thump.

Four.

He sees the fourth hat a heartbeat too late. Sees the second (practically hidden) exit from the kitchen an instant too late. The puzzle pieces jam together and it's too late.

Donnie Skibs is not their guy.

But Rocko Skibs is.

Four hats.

Rocko Skibs had access to the employee files. It was Rocko's ticket to the monster truck rally, not Donnie's. Rocko Skibs is right-handed! And limps!

Shawn notices Rocko and his red hat and the second exit a moment too late.

He notices the gun pointed at him first.

"Rocko!" Donnie Skibs' shocked voice is enough to make the law enforcement duo whirl around. Shawn hears Lassiter unholster his weapon. A second later, Juliet does the same.

Once lagging behind the detectives, Shawn now finds himself in front of a loaded gun. And a red hat.

Four damn hats.

Shawn's hands creep up in shocked surrender.

His heart is beating to the rhythm: four hats, four hats, four hats.

The world halts to a loud and grinding stop. Shawn begins to take in pieces of the scene before him: Rocko's shaking hand. The beads of nervous sweat trickling down his face. The wild, trapped, panicked look in his eyes. Lassiter's voice an octave lower than normal as he commands the criminal to drop his weapon. The soft clack of Juliet's heels on the tile floor as she leverages a better position. Donnie pleading for his brother to relinquish his gun.

Something behind Shawn catches Rocko's eye and his face darkens. His finger moves. Shawn's heart drops. Rocko pulls the trigger.

All hell breaks lose.

He is knocked to the floor. Four hats. Another gun goes off. Four hats. There is yelling. Four hats. Rocko drops to the ground. Four hats. Lassiter is bellowing.

Shawn waits for a pain that never comes.

Then, calm.

Shawn breathes. In and out. He pats down his body and sighs in relief when nothing seems amiss. Then Lassie's words register:

"This is Detective Lassiter requesting back-up to 202 Sunnyside Drive. I have an officer down. I repeat, an officer down. GET ME A DAMN AMBULANCE, NOW!"