Santa Barbara- 1984

"Shawn."

His father's stern voice stopped Shawn in his tracks, halfway up the staircase.

"Yeah?"

He turned around slowly, smiling innocently at Henry, who was looking up at him from the landing.

"Don't 'yeah' me. What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Shawn. You came bolting through here at ninety miles an hour, you're nervous and sweaty, and I saw you throw your baseball bat into the bushes. So don't tell me nothing! What's going on?"

"Nothing! I…"

One look from Henry was enough to silence him. He sighed and looked down at the floor guiltily.

"I hit my baseball through Mrs. Maddock's window. Again."

"I see. And?"

"And?" Shawn scrunched up his nose quizzically. "And what?"

"You tell me."

"And…I'm really sorry?"

"Try again."

"And…I'm going to go back and tell her I'm sorry?"

"And…"

"And… offer to pay for it?"

"Better."

Henry nodded, but then considered for a moment.

"Why?" He asked finally.

"Why what?"

"Why are you going to go back and offer to pay for it?"

Shawn looked confused.

"Because you'll make me?"

Now it was Henry's turn to sigh.

"Sit down, Shawn."

"Can't I just go pay for—"

"Sit!"

Shawn rolled his eyes, but came downstairs and took a seat at the kitchen table across from Henry.

"This isn't about the window," Henry began.

"Oh, good."

Shawn sounded relieved.

"Just listen. This is about you."

"Darn."

"Shawn, you made a mistake. Own up to it. Make it right. But don't do it because I'm making you. Don't do to it because you got caught. Do it because it's the right thing to do. Even if you never get caught. Even if no one will ever know what you did. Do it because it's the right thing to do."

"Even if I get in trouble?"

"You're always in more trouble if you get caught."

"Always?" Shawn asked nervously.

"Always," Henry replied, crossing his arms and giving his son a look that foretold many hours of arduous labor ahead.

"Shoot."

Santa Barbara- Today

Henry stopped his painting when he heard Shawn's motorcycle roar into the driveway. He dropped the brush and wiped his hands on his jeans.

Shawn was smiling as he approached, helmet in hand.

A sure sign he was about to ask for something.

"What do you want, Shawn?" He asked.

Shawn pretended to be offended.

"Can't a son just drop by to say hi to his father?"

"No."

"Okay, fine," he dropped the act. "I need to borrow your lawn mower."

"My lawn mower? Why? You live in an apartment."

"I know, but there's this really cute girl who has this thing about--"

Henry held up his hand.

"Never mind. I don't want to know. Just take it. But I want it back by the weekend."

Shawn was nodding in agreement, but Henry could tell he wasn't really listening.

He was already thinking about the girl.

"Ok. Yeah. Sure. No problem."

"With the gas tank filled," he added.

Shawn just kept nodding.

"Uh-huh. Sure."

"And I want you to mow my lawn. This weekend."

He suddenly stopped nodding.

"Come on, now!"

Henry just shook his head, unmoved.

"That's the price. You want it or not? Just how cute is this girl?"

Shawn had to consider carefully for a moment.

"Fine," he finally agreed reluctantly. "But this is extortion."

"Call the police," Henry shrugged. "It's in the garage."

Shawn had it out in a few minutes. He sure got chores done quickly when he was motivated...

As he strapped his helmet back on, it suddenly occurred to Henry.

"Uh, Shawn. Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?"

Henry gestured at the motorcycle.

"How are you going to get it home on that thing?"

"Right. About that…"

"What?"

"Gus is at work…"

"And?"

"And…"

Shawn just let the thought hang in the air, arching his eyebrows suggestively.

Henry rolled his eyes.

"Put them in the back of the truck," he sighed, fishing his keys out of his pocket.

"Thanks," Shawn grinned, already halfway across the driveway.

As Shawn was loading the lawn mower, Detective Lassiter pulled up. Both Spencers looked at each other questioningly.

"What's he want?" Henry muttered.

"I don't know," Shawn whispered. "But if he's looking for me, I was with you last night between 10 and 1, okay?"

"Shawn…"

Lassiter was already out of his car, crossing the yard. His face was firmly set.

"Hey, Henry," he said, ignoring Shawn.

"Detective."

"What's up, Lassie?" Shawn asked.

"Spencer, look," he glanced over at Shawn gravely. "I'm telling you right now. Stay out of this."

"Stay out of what?"

Lassiter turned back to Henry.

"You read about the body the Girl Scout troop found while they were camping last week?" He asked.

"Sure," Henry shrugged. "Not much of a body, though, according to the paper. Just a decomposing skeleton."

"Yeah. M.E. says the vic's been dead for at least a decade."

"Okay…"

"We got an I.D. back today from the dental records. Frank Kitchel."

"Kitchel?"

Shawn glanced back and forth between Lassiter and his father, who seemed to be communicating without words.

Unfortunately, he was left out of the silent conversation.

"Who's Frank Kitchel?" He asked.

"A drug dealer," Henry answered quietly. "We were getting close to busting him. Big time. But he disappeared a few days before we could get our case set."

"Oh."

"He was murdered," Lassiter added. "Bullet through the skull. Execution-style."

Henry nodded thoughtfully.

"I figured. He must've pissed someone off."

"Henry, he was shot with a .45."

"So?"

"So, you see my problem."

Once again, Shawn was dumbfounded by the unspoken conversation. Their eyes were definitely speaking volumes, but he couldn't figure out what, exactly, they were saying.

"What problem?"

"Your father carried a .45."

"Lots of people have .45's."

Lassiter cocked a knowing eyebrow at Henry.

"Tell him. Or I can."

"Tell me what?"

Shawn was on the verge of losing his mind.

"He threatened you," Henry told him, returning the Detective's searching look. "The day before he disappeared, we had him in interrogation. He knew about you, said if I came after him he'd kill you. I told him if he did, I'd hunt him down and put a bullet through his skull. It's all in the transcript in his file. Which Detective Lassiter has no doubt looked over by now."

Lassiter's jaw set a bit more firmly as he nodded in confirmation.

"You threatened him, Henry. And the next day, he's dead."

"Wait!" Shawn interrupted. "This guy threatened me? What did I do to him?"

Henry just waved him off, still scrutinizing Lassiter's increasingly mask-like face.

"I went after bad guys, Shawn. You got threatened a lot. I just never told you."

Shawn was dumbstruck.

He stood, staring disbelievingly at his father for a full minute before he could finally speak again.

"You never told me? People threatened to kill me on a regular basis?"

"Semi-regular."

"It is just a non-stop pleasure parade being your son."

Lassiter cleared his throat, and Shawn suddenly realized he was serious about this. He was frowning now, his forehead wrinkled as he quietly pulled out the paper search warrant and handed it to Henry.

"Look. I need your piece. The one you carried. We have to run ballistics. You understand."

Henry nodded impassively. If he was concerned at all about any of this, he certainly wasn't showing it.

"It's in the house."

"I also need you to come down to the station and answer a few question. Okay?"

"Fine."

Lassiter followed Henry into the house, neither man saying another word.

Shawn stayed outside, still trying to absorb everything that had just happened.

"Are we talking dozens of people?" He called after them. "Hundreds? Dad? Come on!"