Chapter 2 – Friday  

Juliet looked at the man sitting on the other side of her desk. Patrick Walsh was a beefy man in his early fifties, with thinning black hair sprinkled liberally with grey. He was the typical well-groomed business owner type. Extremely well groomed. His suit didn't look cheap, and it was tailored to try and hide his grown bulge around the middle as well as possible. Button down shirt and impeccable tie added to that just as well as the perfectly styled hair.

But the past days seemed to have left their mark on him. He looked as if he had gotten little to no sleep, there were deep bags under his eyes and he was looking pale. He also wore way too much aftershave, and Juliet only hoped that this wasn't an attempt to mask a skipped shower. The clothes definitely looked slightly rumpled despite their fine tailoring, as if he had slept in them.

Walsh was the owner of Walsh's Furniture Wholesale and Import, one of the biggest sellers of furniture in the whole Santa Barbara area. Walsh's wholesale imported furniture from all over the world, selling the higher priced pieces of more quality to exclusive furniture stores in the county, and running his own chain of small businesses in the area where he sold the cheaper pieces of furniture, the ones that buyers had to construct at home.

Juliet herself had bought a nightstand in one of the stores once. It had been a nice enough looking piece in the showroom, not too expensive but solid enough looking. She should have known that something was up when the three-dimensional nightstand had come in a nearly two-dimensional flat package. And that whole afternoon she had spent trying to construct the newest addition to her interior decoration had left her wishing she had gone to IKEA after all. The nightstand had ended up being rickety and looking slightly off-centre, and she had thrown it out after only a couple of weeks to replace it with something more sturdy.

But the experience had left its mark, and Juliet couldn't help but feel a slightly negative attitude towards the man sitting in front of her. That little venture had cost her $60, after all.

That Walsh seemed a little nervous wasn't too surprising. Most people did when confronted with the police. Not that Walsh had seemed surprised when she had called him earlier, asking him to come to the police station. The fire department had informed Walsh as the owner of the warehouse that the fire had been caused deliberately, so he must have known that sooner or later the police would want to talk to him. And in Juliet's experience, all successful businessmen had a few little or not so little things that they didn't particularly want the police to find out.

But this was about the fire, not about whether or not Walsh cheated on his taxes or underpaid his workers.

"Thanks for coming in, Mr. Walsh."

Dark eyes darted over Juliet's face for a short moment, then went back to staring across the room.

"Of course. I mean, I want this whole thing cleared up. And it took the fire department long enough to get this investigation started."

"Mr. Walsh, I assure you that everything was done as quickly as it was possible. But even the Fire Department has to consider certain safety guidelines when they're conducting an investigation."

Walsh looked up, startled at Juliet's answer.

"Of course. I mean…I'm not saying they were dragging it out. But you have to understand that my business is at risk here."

Juliet nodded. "I do understand that, Mr. Walsh. And we are doing everything we can to get this case solved as quickly as possible."

"So, did you already arrest those guys?"

"What guys?"

Walsh rolled his eyes as if Juliet had just said something incredibly dumb.

"Come on detective. I was there after I got the call that my warehouse was on fire. The Fire Department didn't let me get close, but I saw the message on the ground. I'm talking about those FPO-guys. They've been hassling me for a while now."

FPO distantly struck a chord, but for now Juliet didn't quite know where to place them. No need to admit that to Walsh, but definitely something worth jotting down for later reference.

"Hassling you how?"

"All kinds of stuff. Protest letters, badmouthing me on their crappy website, calling people to boycott stores that sell my furniture. They claim to be all about saving the rainforest, probably think they'll be saving the world next. All the wood for our hardwood furniture comes from sustainably managed forests, detective. We make a point only importing furniture made of wood that is certified to come from areas where as much is re-grown as is taken down. My business has a good reputation, I'd like to keep it that way. We're all for saving the rainforest, but we cannot deny that there is a huge market for tropical woods. But of course those tree-huggers don't care about that. They hear the word "hardwood" and go completely ballistic."

Juliet made a few more notes. "Have these protests escalated lately? Did they threaten violence?"

Walsh waved her off. "Who knows what's going on in those people's heads? Once you see them, you'll know what I mean. Hypocrites, all of them. They say they're for saving the trees and nature, but once it's smokeable, they don't particularly care about saving it anymore, if you catch my drift. They didn't threaten anything, don't you think I would have called you in on this a lot earlier if they had?"

Juliet decided not to answer that particular question. "Did you by chance save any of those protest letters you received?"

"I'll have Janet, my office manager, send them over to you. It should be proof enough that those people are interested to put me out of business in their delusion that this is going to save the world."

Walsh seemed sold on the idea that the people who had sent him the letters were also the ones to set his warehouse on fire, but Juliet needed to make sure that this wasn't something else entirely.

"So it's a widely known fact that your business does not do any more damage to the environment than a business that is not importing tropical hardwoods?"

Walsh shrugged. "The people who care to check where our wood comes from know, of course. But I wouldn't expect some hippies who think that protesting is their only purpose in life to do their research. I mean, the pieces of furniture all have a certificate that the wood comes from sustainably managed forests. So the people involved in the transactions know. People who care to ask where our wood comes from will get their answer. So yeah, people know, at least those who are intelligent enough to think."

Juliet made another note to talk to the storeowners that sold the hardwood furniture Walsh imported. Maybe they could add to Walsh's view on the environmentalist protesters.

"Mr. Walsh, can you think of anybody else who could have done that? Not necessarily any environmental activists. Anybody who held a grudge against you, personally or as a businessman. Have you received any threats?"

"What? Threats? Isn't it enough that those hippies threatened me? Nobody else did. I mean, business is hard. People think a lot about whether or not to make bigger investments into their living arrangements these days. The competition is getting harder. But this? No."

"So you don't think anybody would want to put you out of competition? From what I gather, your company is amongst the top three in the business in the entire state."

Walsh shrugged awkwardly, though a slightly proud smile showed on his face. "Of course there are plenty of people who'd love to see me going down. But that's business, detective. One day you're on top, the next a competitor has the better business idea and pushes you down a few notches. Somebody might make me a bad offer on furniture imports, or try to screw me over in a deal. But I can't think of anybody who'd actually set my warehouse on fire. I mean, the things that could have happened. What if somebody had been in the building? That fire could have killed somebody. How can you claim to want to save the planet and risk killing people doing so?"

Juliet shuddered at the thought. The fire department's report had made it clear that no bodies had been found in the remains of the warehouse, but still. Merely the thought about being trapped somewhere, suffocating in that heat, and the smoke was more than just unpleasant.

She opened the case file in front of her and looked up at Walsh. "So, tell me about Saturday night, Mr. Walsh. How did you get to know about the fire?"

Walsh shrugged again. "I was home. I had been in the office till about six, I think. I can't remember exactly, but mostly I leave by four, four-thirty on a Saturday. But this day I had to stay longer because we'd received a new shipment of furniture." He shook his head and laughed dryly. "It was the deal of the year, detective. I had contracts with three exclusive furniture stores here in Santa Barbara and down in Los Angeles about a large shipment of teak and obechi furniture."

"So, you left the office later than usual that Saturday?"

Walsh nodded. "The shipment had been later than expected, so we were running a little late getting the warehouse stocked. And I was supervising the loading process. With a deal as big as this one, I wanted to make sure that everything went smoothly, that the papers were in order and none of the pallets were damaged. We finished loading up the warehouse at about five, I think. The drivers and my workers left, and I retreated into the office to finish the paperwork. Once that was done I locked up and went home. Everything was normal, until the police called later that night to tell me that my warehouse was on fire."

"Did you notice anybody else around when you left the warehouse? Anybody who was not supposed to be there, anything suspicious?"

Walsh laughed. "Detective, there were plenty of people out on the street, on the neighboring properties, cars and trucks driving by. Nothing that stood out to me, but I wasn't paying attention. I mean, if I had known what would happen, I'd have, but I didn't think…"

He shook his head and ran his hand through his thin hair in a slightly desperate gesture that stood in contrast to his earlier flaring temper. When his watery eyes turned on Juliet, she felt the urge to look away.

"Detective, I didn't just lose that warehouse. The goods that were in there were the contents of three very big business deals. I just lost three of my biggest customers for the foreseeable future. Fire or not, those customers ordered wares that didn't arrive in time. And I cannot easily and quickly replace a shipment of that size and quality. If there's one thing this business doesn't take too well, then it's not being able to keep your contracts. I'll be glad if those partners will do business with me again in the future. This whole mess needs to be cleared up as soon as possible, otherwise I'll be looking at a very bleak future."

Juliet nodded. "We're doing the best we can, Mr. Walsh. Is there anything else you can think of? Anything that will help us solve this case more quickly?"

Walsh nodded. "Find those FPO guys, then I think you will have this case solved very soon."

This conversation was getting them nowhere. Juliet closed her notebook and stood up.

"Thank you Mr. Walsh, that is all for now. We'll let you know as soon as we find out anything new. Please have your assistant bring me those letters."

Walsh followed her example and got up from his chair as well. "I already said I would."

"And we're going to need a list of your employees. We're going to have to talk to all of them, especially the ones who were doing shifts on that Saturday, as well as the name of the driver who delivered the furniture that day."

Walsh looked less than pleased at that, but after a moment he nodded. "Of course. I don't know what you think you could find there, but I'll relay the information to you as soon as possible."

"Good." Juliet stretched out her hand and the older man shook it. Walsh's grip was slightly sweaty, but the skin of his hand was also very rough, in total contrast to his otherwise perfectly groomed and made-up appearance. Juliet didn't think that Walsh was so much into manual labor, but she shrugged the thought away. She definitely had more important things to worry about right now. Nevertheless, she withdrew her hand as quickly as she could without being impolite. "Thank you for coming over, Mr. Walsh. Believe me that we're doing everything we can to find out who did this."

Juliet walked Walsh out of the police station and remained standing at the front desk as the man pulled off the parking lot in a shiny new black SUV. Figures, she thought. She got cheated out of $60 for a nightstand that barely held it together, and Walsh got a new car out of the deal. The world was unfair.

As she turned back to return to her desk, she could only hope that today wasn't going to drag on for as long as yesterday had. But then again, the outlook for that wasn't too good. If Walsh had received threats from environmental activists, it was a lead they had to follow. No matter how much Juliet wanted to believe that it wasn't true just to prove Walsh wrong. She was a cop, she had to follow every angle in an investigation. No matter if she liked the victim in a case or not. No matter if that guy had cheated her out of $60, an entire afternoon of trying to construct a nightstand, and three fingernails in the process of trying to construct it. She still had to investigate the case.

Which meant that right now, she had to find out what exactly the FPO was.

"Good morning Santa Barbara! This is Billy the Whiz, your favorite DJ here on WKLX. Every morning from 8 to 10 I bring you the best in Rock Classics here on Santa Barbara's favorite radio station."

Gus groaned and sank back in his desk chair with his hands covering his face. "It's too early for this."

Shawn took a sip of his takeout coffee, struggling to hold back a yawn. In fact, he agreed with Gus. It was way too early to be listening to Billy the Whiz' nasal drawl. In fact, in his book it was too early for anything besides turning over in bed and going back to sleep. But there was always the $100,000 to consider.

Well, that and the fact that they had been beaten – again. They had figured out the second clue easy as pie, they had driven to the Mission as fast as they could, but still they hadn't come in first. Again. They had been beaten. Again.

By a guy who called himself El Mysterio.

How was that for a crappy start for the day?

"It's just one song, Gus. Just one song, then we're out of here."

Gus huffed. "Yeah, unless we can't figure out where to go after the first clue, because then we'll be stuck listening to this crap station and Billy the Whiz again for he entire day, waiting for the second clue."

Shawn shook his head. "Not today. Today we're going to decipher that first clue. No waiting around for the second clue. Today we're going to come in first."

Gus rolled his eyes. "You're still hung up on that whole El Mysterio thing, aren't you?"

"Come on Gus, what kind of scavenger hunter gives himself a name like El Mysterio?"

"I got two words for you Shawn. Magic Heads."

Shawn waved his friend off. "Yeah, whatever. What I'm trying to say is that something's not right here. This El Mysterio guy keeps beating us to every clue, and that just can't be."

"Why can't it be that somebody is better at this than we are? Come on Shawn, you're good at this whole deduction thing, but those clues?" He pointed at the radio where Billy the Whiz was busy rattling off the never ending list of sponsors for the Scavenger Hunt. "Those clues are designed so that you don't get it the first time around. They want you to listen to that station all day long, waiting for that second clue. That's the whole point of this scavenger hunt."

"Then what do you say we beat the system today?"

"Beat the system? What is this Shawn, a revolution?"

Shawn grinned. "A psychic revolution. I like that. And now listen." He fell silent and gestured at the radio.

"It's 8am here in sunny Santa Barbara, and you all know what this means folks! It's time for the first clue of the day! Attention scavenger hunters! There's still five hundred and eight-eight teams in the race for the WKLX Scavenger Hunt today, and if you want to earn yourselves those $100,000, you better pay good attention. You have till 8pm tonight to figure out the secret location, get there and take your picture with your cell phones. Send the picture in as a picture message to 555-8800 and if you were in the right spot, you proceed to the next round.

"The rules are simple: At least one of the team members has to be in the picture that is sent in to make sure you don't send us your old snapshots of the area. And you only get one shot every day, so better be absolutely sure that you're in the right location before you send in your picture.

This hour of WKLX is brought to you in association with Walsh's Furniture Wholesale and Import.

"And now peel your ears for the first clue of the day."

"Peel your ears?" Gus mouthed but Shawn only waved him off as Billy continued.
"Take a good listen, and then I want to see those pictures of you come flooding in. And here's your clue!"

The Whiz's voice fell silent, something Shawn sent an equally silent prayer of thanks out for. Billy the Whiz not talking was a blessing and a small mercy in his book. But then the music started playing, and after a second or two Shawn raised his head and frowned at Gus, who met his gaze with an equally confused stare. The only thing breaking the silence in the office were the slow guitar chords and the slightly whiny voice that set in after a few seconds of intro.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Shawn could only nod at that. "I'm just glad I'm not the only one who's hearing this. Because it is kinda creepy."

"Kinda creepy? Holding a giant spider in your palm is kinda creepy. Listening to "Purple Rain" at eight in the morning goes way beyond that."

Shawn heartily agreed.

Gus switched the radio off with an air of satisfaction around him, then he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"So, we have "Purple Rain" by Prince."

"What's with all the royal stuff? God save the Queen yesterday, and now Prince? Did I miss the vote on bringing back monarchy?"

"Shawn, you probably missed all votes since you turned eighteen. And don't try to distract me, it won't work. Purple Rain, that's the clue. It's your turn, Mr. I'm going to figure it out on the first clue today. Where in Santa Barbara does that lead us?"

It was a challenge, Shawn recognized, and this particular challenge was a no-brainer. He plastered a grin on his face and got up from his chair.

"Get in the car, I'll show you."

"Come on Shawn, there's no way you figured it out by that clue alone! I grew up in Santa Barbara and I have no idea where this clue is supposed to lead me. Nobody can, not even you!"

Shawn stopped in the door, bouncing on the balls of his feet and let his smile widen to a grin. "But you're only going to find out if you come with me now, won't you? Come on Gus, let's go. This time we're going to beat Mr. Mysterious."

"El Mysterio."

"Three years of high school Spanish tell me that it's the same thing."

"And that would explain why you nearly failed your Spanish class, too. It's not the same thing Shawn."

"Are we going to discuss this interesting yet slightly unimportant matter to death here or do we want to leave and show El Mysterioso what The Magic Heads are capable of?"

"I don't ever want to hear such a sentence from you again." Gus got up from his chair and waved the car keys into Shawn's direction. "If you don't shut up about The Magic Heads soon, this is going to become a one-man team."

Shawn shrugged. "Suit yourself. Just one question – would you call it just The Magic or The Heads? Because I think it's the combination that really carries the wit of it all…"

Gus roughly brushed past Shawn out of the office. "Let's go. And you better not be wrong about this."

Shawn followed Gus into the car. He so wasn't wrong about this. And what's even better, they weren't all that far away from today's scavenger hunt location. Today they were going to come in first.

Gus seemed absolutely clueless as to where they were going as Shawn directed him through the early morning traffic. Just ten minutes later Shawn told Gus to pull the car into a parking slot. They got out of the car, and Gus eyed their surroundings critically.

"Fess Parker Doubletree Resort? What are we doing here, Shawn?"

Shawn rolled his eyes as he jogged around the car and turned towards the park entrance. At this early hour, not many people were in the park. There were two women in tight spandex pants jogging into the park, and Shawn cast them an appreciative glance as he waited for Gus to catch up to him. They were in a hurry, but it was not the life and death kind of hurry. Enough time to take a good look around, see if he spotted any other scavenger hunters. Particularly those who looked as if they'd give themselves a stupid nickname like El Mysterio. Because really, how stupid was that?

Aside from the two young women there were a few people walking their dogs in the park, a woman carrying painting equipment, and a man walking back onto the parking lot to get back into his red Dodge. Nobody seemed to be in a hurry, and nobody seemed to be on a scavenger hunt. This was going to be their day. This time they were going to come in first, Shawn simply knew it.

"Come on Gus, we need to hurry."

"Hurry where?"

"Just trust me on this!" Shawn said and started running down the path that led into the park. Gus muttered something, but Shawn didn't quite catch what it was. There were more important things right now. A short sprint later, Shawn stopped in front of the statue that had been his goal and waited for Gus to catch up on him. It took a moment, but then Gus came to a halt beside him, panting slightly and staring wide-eyed at the statue in front of him.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"What is it with you and that phrase? Do you get paid every time you say it or something? And if so, who does the paying, because that phrase really sucks."

"Shawn, the Chromatic Gate? Seriously?"

Gus gestured at the statue in front of them. It was a huge square arch constructed of different steel frames, each painted in a different color so that it resembled a big, angular rainbow. Distantly resembled a big, angular rainbow. Shawn followed his friend's outstretched finger with his eyes, then he nodded.

"Yes, of course the Chromatic Gate. What else?"

"Are you sure about this?"

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm sure about it. The clue was Purple Rain. Color and rain. Here we have a multi-colored rainbow. How much surer can you get?"

"I don't know. Maybe we should wait for the second clue after all."

"Fine. You want to listen to Billy the Blitz for the entire day, be my guest. But I'm sure that we're in the right place." There was obvious doubt in Gus' face, and Shawn shook his head in disappointment. "Come on Gus, trust me on this one. Purple rain. A colored rainbow. Where else in this city can you find a place which has something to do with rain and a color? Nowhere. Because we're in the right place, that's why."

Gus looked at the steel arches for a few seconds, then drew a deep breath and looked at Shawn. "All right. But if you're wrong, you're so going to owe me $50,000."

"Fine. But just so you know – I am not wrong. This is the only place in Santa Barbara that has anything to do with rain. Because it never rains in Southern California."

"What about that flashflood-like downpour just three days ago?"

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Details, Gus. Now can we take the picture please?"

With a sigh, Gus pulled out his cell phone and the two positioned themselves in front of the Chromatic Gate so that the colored steel frames were clearly visible behind them. Gus snapped the picture and sent it as a message to the scavenger hunt hotline.

"Great, now that is done. And either this scavenger hunt is over for us, or we've spared us an entire day of listening to WKLX. Either way, I'd say it's time for a smoothie, wouldn't you agree?"

Gus only raised an eyebrow. "You're buying. In fact, if you're wrong about this, you'll be buying from here on till doomsday."

Shawn shrugged. "I can live with that." They started walking towards the car. "Doomsday, that's between Christmas and New Year's Eve, right?"

"If your Christmas present this year is as ingenious as it was last year, that might very well happen. And now get in the car."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Lassiter straightened the cuffs of his suit jacket as he walked over towards O'Hara, who was waiting for him beside the interrogation room.

"They're in separate interrogation rooms?"

O'Hara nodded. "Yes. Harvey Borne and Julian LeGrange. Founders of the FPO, the Forest Protection Organization. A local group of about 200 members, they run a website and organize regular protest rallies against businesses and firms that in their eyes are playing a part in destroying the environment."

"And they protest Walsh's business because they think his wood imports are damaging the rainforest?"

Lassiter didn't believe his ears. Did those people really think that a sit-in at a local furniture store was going to save the rainforest? O'Hara merely shrugged.

"Amongst other things. They're a local environmentalist group, which means they mostly concern themselves with things that are going on in the area. Local businesses importing goods from questionable sources, city planning projects in areas they think should be protected, things like that."

Tree-huggers. Just great. Exactly what Lassiter needed before lunch.

"Any of them have priors?"

"Borne has two prior charges. Two years ago he chained himself to the gates of an incineration plant to protest" O'Hara picked up the file and quoted. "To protest against how the pollution of our so-called civilization was violating and killing the planet mother earth lets us live on." At least O'Hara had the decency to frown at the pathetic working. It sounded as if Borne had taken it straight out of a tree-hugger's handbook.

"SBPD officers finally cut him loose, he was charged and arraigned but got away with 100 hours of social work since it was his first conviction. And six months later, he and ten other members tried to occupy an area about an hour north of the city. They were protesting a hotel complex planned there, claiming it would be destroying the natural habitat of a rare species of thrush. When the police tried to clear them from the area, Borne got into an altercation with an officer. Borne was arrested again. He got sentenced to six months on parole. Been clean ever since. Aside from the FPO, he's working part-time in an alternative bookstore."

Lassiter snorted and took the file from O'Hara's hands. More like not gotten caught, really. In his experience, radical environmentalists didn't just stop being radical because they got arrested. If anything, it only spurred them on.

"I'll take the Borne interview then. You interrogate his buddy."

O'Hara looked as if she was going to say something, but Lassiter strode past her an into the interrogation room before she had the chance to. He was head detective, after all. It was his prerogative to interview the main suspect, and Lassiter knew how to handle punks like Borne.

Though the guy didn't exactly look like a punk. Twenty-nine years old, according to his file, Borne looked more to be in his mid-thirties. Haggard looking figure, stringy hair and a face that had too many lines in his face from too many hours in the sun. Well, there had to be a downside to trying and save the planet. The irony of getting burnt by the sun because you were trying to save the earth wasn't lost on Lassiter, and inwardly he was chuckling loudly.

On the outside, he was carefully watching the guy who was sitting there with his hands on the interrogation room table, looking up at him as he entered.

"Harvey Borne?"

"It would be pretty embarrassing for the SBPD if I wasn't, now would it?"

Lassiter slammed the file down on the table and leaned over Borne. "Just answer the question."

Borne rolled his eyes. "As I already told the officers who dragged me out of my apartment earlier, yes. That's my name. And now would you finally tell me what you dragged me here for?"

"I am asking the questions."

Borne shook his head. "Oh no. I came voluntarily, but only because I know that if I hadn't, you'd have hauled me here in cuffs not even an hour later."

Lassiter shook his head. "And that surprises you, after you attacked a police officer?"

Borne rose from his chair, hands balled into fists and leaning onto the table. "I was defending myself! That officer was getting violent without any provocation! It wasn't me who took the first swing, I only defended myself!"

"Sit back down."

"You will not tell me what…"

"Sit down!"

Borne looked as if he'd rather poke himself with a sharp stick, but grudgingly sat back down.

"You're not here because of what happened back then. You're here because of this."

He opened the file and took out the protest letters that Walsh had received from FPO. Borne took a quick look at the copied letters, but didn't pick up any of them.

"You recognize those?"

Borne nodded. "Those are letters."

"Do you recognize those letters?"

Borne looked up, and suddenly all the defiance of someone on a mission to save the planet was in his gaze.

"There is nothing illegal about writing protest letters to a company that is importing rare hardwood furniture just because some rich idiots pay a lot of money for something they don't absolutely need. Do you know how important the rainforests are for the world-wide climate? Rich upstarts who think something needs to be expensive to be good, people without any kind of environmental conscience at all, they are destroying the planet that I'm forced to live on, and you want to tell me that it's illegal to write a letter of protest against that? It's my constitutional right!"

"You have the constitutional right to say nothing without a lawyer present."

Borne's eyebrows went up. "Am I under arrest? For what? Writing a letter? What did I do, put too little postage on it?"

"Don't you get smart with me, Borne, or you will be under arrest before you know it."

"Listen detective. The FPO is a legit organization. We're a non-profit organization dedicated to raising public awareness on environmental issues. And yes, we make a habit out of confronting business owners with their missteps if we see fit. Because you know what? It might just be that one of them starts thinking about what we have to say."

"Patrick Walsh says you were harassing him with those letters."

Borne shrugged nonchalantly. "If he had felt threatened, or harassed, don't you think he would have called you in a lot earlier? Do you know how many of those letters we send out every week? About fifty. That's how screwed up the people in this city are, that we have to do this. We weren't singling out Walsh in any way, but he is amongst those unteachable people who have their environmental conscience buried so deep, they wouldn't find it if their life depended on it."

"You are aware that Walsh is importing hardwood from sustainably managed forests?"

Borne laughed out loud at that. "There is no such thing like a sustainably managed forest, detective. Those labels that he slaps on his furniture, the ones claiming that they're environmentally sound? It's all lies. There are no international standards on this. Saying that they're not killing the rainforest makes their sales go up, that's all those people care about. Nobody gives a damn about what's really going on where the trees are cut down, and what that does to our environment! But when the whole eco-system collapses, they're all going to start whining about how somebody should have done something against it, and those rich and disinterested businessmen like Walsh are going to be the first to demand somebody save their sorry asses when Mother Nature is going to strike back."

Lassiter raised his eyebrows at the outburst. Interesting. Very interesting.

"So you decided to teach Walsh a lesson, because he wouldn't listen to what you had to say when you wrote him letters."

Borne laughed, but his eyes were darting nervously around the room. "That's what this is about? You really think I have something to do with what happened to that guy's warehouse?"

"You don't?"

"Of course not!" Borne threw his hands in the air, then ran them through his stringy, badly cut hair. "The FPO is an organization that advocates peaceful protests, as is protected by the freedom of speech! We're not about violence, or about destruction. We have always stood behind every act we've committed as an organization, we always claimed responsibility, and as a group we always stayed within our constitutional rights. We're not about violence. We want to appeal to people! I have nothing to do with that fire, detective."

Lassiter smiled. That's what they all said. But he had heard that kind of denial far too often already to still believe it blindly.

"Well, then I'm sure you have nothing against telling me where you were last Saturday evening. Starting at 5:00pm, until about 6:30pm."

Borne sighed dramatically. "I was at home. And yes, before you ask, I was alone."
"Now isn't that convenient."

Borne rolled his eyes. "Detective. Do you honestly think that if I had burned down that warehouse, I'd have been clever enough to get myself an alibi?"

Lassiter shrugged. "I don't know. Are you that clever?"

"You know what? That's typical! You have no idea who burned down that warehouse, so you throw yourself at the first person you think might be a suspect. It's sad, detective."

Lassiter crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Oh, is it now?"

"Yes, it is! Because my intention is to save things, not destroy them. Besides, hw many pollutants are set free if you burn down a building? I'm not a hypocrite, detective. I live by the standards that I set myself. I live as environmentally conscious as this so called civilized society will allow me to, and I most certainly don't go around and burn down buildings just because people like Walsh are more concerned with their profit than with the question whether or not they leave their children a planet that's still inhabitable!"

Lassiter calmly collected the copied letters and put them back into the case file. "Excuse me if I don't take you word for that."

He picked up the file and turned to leave. He was nearly at the door when he heard the sound of a chair scraping over the linoleum.

"Hey, wait a second! What about me?"

Lassiter turned around to find Borne standing behind the table, arms raised in emphasis of his question. He shrugged.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll find a way to occupy yourself. Just in case we have some more questions for you later. I can have someone bring you a sheet of paper and a pen if you want to write a letter of protest."

And without waiting for Borne's answer, Lassiter left the interrogation room and closed the door behind himself. He didn't think O'Hara was going to get anything more out of Borne's buddy. In any case, if one of those two was involved in the fire, Lassiter was sure that it was Borne. After all, he was the one with the record to prove that he didn't shy back from crossing the law for his convictions.

Besides, he had a connection to the victim, a possible motive and no alibi. It wasn't proof of anything, but for now it was enough to let him stew for a little while longer. And now Lassiter was going to go through the evidence again, see if forensics had come up with anything that would tie Borne to the fire.

Dinner at his Dad's house at 7:30. Easy as it sounded, there were still some important rules to be followed. You couldn't be too early, because otherwise it could happen that you ended up peeling potatoes, gutting a fish or killing the cow. But you also couldn't be too late, ever, because dinner started on time. Those who were late had to fight over the leftovers.

It was 7:25 by the time Gus pulled the car up in front of Henry's house. Shawn figured that it was a good time to arrive. Their food was already dead and cooked, his Dad was probably about to set the table, but they weren't too late. That was the important part.

Gus silently got out of the car and walked up to the house without waiting up for Shawn. Gus had been a bit disgruntled after this morning's hurried trip to the Chromatic Gate, and despite the fact that they had already sent in their picture for the day Gus had surreptitiously listened to the radio all day long. He hadn't even whined about Billy the Swiss just once. By the time the second musical clue of the day had turned out to be Madonna's "Take a bow", Gus' mood had turned a bit sour.

Purple Rain. Take a Bow. Rainbow.

No matter how much Gus had twisted and turned it, there had only been one conclusion – the Chromatic Gate. Shawn had been right. And of course Gus had been happy that they had found the right location so early in the day. But he hadn't been too happy that Shawn had been right and his own doubts had been too exaggerated.

In hindsight, maybe Shawn shouldn't have rubbed it in so much.

Come to think of it, the victory dance probably had been a bit over the top.
But in the end, all that mattered was that they had deciphered the clue as early as they had. And if all went well, the next victory dance was one they were going to do together – on Sunday evening, when the winner of the Scavenger Hunt was going to be announced.

Shawn got out of the car and followed Gus to the front door. He knocked and opened it, entering the empty living room.

"Dad! We're here!"

"In the kitchen!"

The smell of roasting meat was waving through the house, making Shawn's stomach growl audibly. It had been a long time since lunch, after all.

Henry was standing at the island in the middle of the kitchen, mixing salad in a bowl. The table was already set, and behind Henry pots and pans were boiling and sizzling away merrily. The radio on the kitchen counter was on, playing some old sixties song that probably nobody except from his father and an aging radio DJ remembered.

"You're just in time. I'd have started without you if you had run late."

"Yeah, big surprise there."

"Anything I can do to help?" Gus asked.

"Yes, you can get the bread, Gus. Thank you."

Gus went over towards the counter to get the bread basket, and while Henry busied himself with the steaks and potatoes, Shawn went over towards the radio and turned the frequency knob. It was a bit worrisome that he knew the WKLX frequency by heart now. But this was work. It was like a case. If he only kept telling himself that, he might keep his sanity intact.

The sixties song faded away into the jabbering of a DJ reading the weather forecast with the rapidity of an ADHD patient on speed. Henry, who was just about to put the last of the food on the table, raised his head.

"Turn that off, Shawn."

Shawn turned the volume down somewhat and went over towards the table. "Sorry Dad. But we really need to listen to it, just for a few minutes longer."

Henry raised an eyebrow, frowning disapprovingly. He put his fork into one of the steaks and transferred it onto his plate while Gus attacked the bowl with potatoes.
"So you're still running along with that stupid treasure hunt."

Shawn rolled his eyes. He had heard that lecture already, last Sunday when he had told Henry about the scavenger hunt.

"It's not a stupid treasure hunt, Dad."

Henry snorted. "Yeah, that's what Jack always says, too."

Shawn shook his head. "Do you see me running around with an ancient map, dodging bullets from my partners? This is something entirely different, Dad. It's a competition that relies on logic and deduction."

"That's crap Shawn. It's a carrot on a stick that they're dangling in front of you to keep you listening to that crappy station all day long."

Shawn put a steak on his own plate and spooned gravy over it. "A $100,000 carrot, Dad. Just imagine what that $100,000 carrot could buy! 50,000 cheeseburgers! 20,000 cheeseburger and fries menus. Enough smoothies to last a lifetime! 200,000 new shirts for you!"

Henry grimaced at the barb but didn't rise to the bait. He merely shook his head and chewed on his steak while behind them the WKLX news-reporter drowned on about the economic situation.

"It's a mindless chase all over the city," Henry finally said between two bites. "Nothing else. The two of you," here he pointed his fork first at Gus, then at Shawn, "are running along with the dumb masses, nothing else. I mean, did you take a look around the city at the beginning of the week? All those idiots with their radios blaring, blocking the streets as they try to get to some place just because a radio DJ with a brain the size of a frozen pea tells them to. And for what? So that they can repeat the whole thing the next day. And the day after that. It's brainless, Shawn, and it won't win you any money."

"Oh no? Well, for your information, Gus and I have been in the top three contestants every day since Tuesday."

Henry shrugged. "Now that's great, Shawn! Why didn't you tell me earlier?" He rolled his eyes and stabbed a potato with more force than necessary. "Come on, don't tell me you seriously think you can win this thing? It's just a ploy to get people talking about that station, to get them to listen to this crap. You might come in first and second every damn day of the week because you drop all honest work to focus on this idiotic race, but I guarantee you that you won't come in first on Sunday. And you know why? Because whoever is going to come in on Sunday is somebody who knows somebody at the radio station. Or something like that. Those competitions are never fair, Shawn. They only want to keep you busy, and they want to sell their product. That's all there is to it."

Shawn just shook his head. "You don't understand. Forget it, Dad."

He drew a breath to say something else, but was cut short when Gus suddenly shifted and turned his full attention to the radio.

"Shhh!"

"What? Did you just shush me? Dad, Gus just shushed us!"

"Shhh!" Gus repeated and gestured towards the radio. "I'm trying to listen to this."
Shawn found himself listening, if only to know what it was that had piqued Gus' interest.

"…possible traffic hold-ups around those beaches at the time of filming. The movie It Came From Space to Conquer Rome starring Eliza Carlisle will be the first movie production to be shot on location in Santa Barbara since…"

"Dude, you're shushing me because of a movie? A movie that's called It Came From Space to Conquer Rome? Seriously?"

Shawn shook his head, but Gus's eyes were wide in glee and excitement.

"They're going to shoot the movie here in Santa Barbara, Shawn! Isn't that great?"

Shawn in all honesty didn't know what to say to that. It was as if Gus hadn't even heard what he had said.

"You're not serious about this Gus. Please tell me you're not serious about this."

"Shawn, this is going to be amazing. We've got to get there and watch when they start shooting."

Shawn shook his head emphatically and was about to protest as Billy the Whiz' annoying nasal voice sounded through the speakers and started rattling off the names of the Scavenger Hunt sponsors. On the other side of the table, Henry snorted in amusement.

"Watching them film a movie at the beach sounds no more like a waste of time than spending an entire week chasing after brainless clues just because someone dangles the illusion of money in front of you."

Shawn rolled his eyes.

"Were going to win this, Dad. I promise you, by Sunday evening you're going to sing a different tune altogether. Only this morning, we immediately deciphered the first clue. I'm betting you that Gus and me came in first today."

Henry only laughed. "Of course you are."

"You'll see Dad!"

"Attention WKLX Scavenger Hunters!" Billy's voice sounded from the speakers, and across the table Gus groaned with an eye-roll. Shawn tried to use the momentary moment of his friend's distraction to reach for the last piece of bread in the basket, only to withdraw his hand and cradle it against his chest as Gus slapped his hand roughly.

"Ouch!"

"That's mine. You listen to that blabbering idiot, I'm trying to enjoy my dinner here."

"The numbers are dwindling! Only two hundred and twenty-four scavenger hunters sent in their picture from the right location before the deadline. Folks, I'm disappointed. We're giving away 100,000 bucks here, and you don't seem to put any effort into it at all! You don't need to do much, but you need to work a little for your future riches.

"Purple Rain and Take a Bow – you don't honestly want to tell me that there is another location here in Santa Barbara that this clue could lead to than your very own artistic rainbow? I thought you folks were so proud of all the art that's spread around the city. And it's not as if that thing was small, or inconspicuous. You can see it from the road whenever you're driving by! I'll be expecting a lot more from you guys tomorrow.

"But let's stop the lecture and talk about our top three of the day, shall we? Because the few of you who managed to figure out the clue did so pretty fast today! We got the first picture from the right location not even twenty minutes after the clue aired!"

Shawn grinned across the table at Gus. That could only be them. They had been at the park about twenty minutes after the clue had aired.

"So here's the top three, folks. Third to send in their picture from the Chromatic Gate were the team participating under the name of The Playmates. And folks, I sorely wish for them to win the $100,000 on Sunday just to see whether those gals do their name justice!

"Second this morning is the name of a team we've heard before over the past week. Those Magic Heads really bear watching, they've been coming in a constant second over the past three days."

Henry chuckled while Shawn stared at the radio in disbelief.

"What?"

"And we definitely need to watch out for the contestant named El Mysterio. Maybe he's a Santa Barbara tour guide, or a local history buff. Whatever he is, he seems to know this city inside out, and once more managed to be the first to send in his picture. Congratulations to the mysterious man, and tune in again tomorrow morning at 8am sharp, when we continue the WKLX Scavenger Hunt with the next clue. A fresh location, a fresh clue, I just hope you're not fresh out of luck!"

Shawn got up from his chair and turned the radio off. Eyes locking with Gus', Shawn shook his head.

"That can't be. It just can't be. We left right after that clue aired. We figured it out immediately. There's no way this El Mysterio guy could have beaten us to Fess Parker Doubletree Resort. No way."

Henry shrugged, an I told you so-expression on his face. "I told you that there was no way just about anyone could win that competition, Shawn. It's no real competition in the first place. It's just a huge, big fake."

Shawn shook his head. "It can't be. We were there pretty much right after the clue aired. Even if that Mysterio guy beat us to the Chromatic Gate, we should have seen him."

Shawn went through this morning's events in his mind. Their arrival in the parking lot by the park entrance. There had been a few joggers, and a guy walking his dog, but he had been walking into the other direction, away from the Chromatic Gate. Then there had been the woman with the painting utensils, the easel and the bag with brushes and paint stuck under her arm. She had been leaving the park, but if she had been a scavenger hunter she wouldn't have taken the painting utensils with her.

And that guy who had come out of the park just as they had arrived. The guy who had climbed into a red Dodge. He had come out of the park. Out of the direction of the Chromatic Gate. Shawn remembered what he had looked like. He remembered the car. And – even more importantly – he remembered the plates.

"Dude, I've got a way to figure out how it happened that this guy keeps beating us."

Gus frowned. "How?"

"Easy as pie. We'll find out who he is, and then we'll find out how he does it. I saw his car this morning. First thing tomorrow, we're going to ask Juliet to run the plates for us and presto – we'll know who he is."

"And you think it'll be that easy?" Henry threw in from the other side of the table, but Shawn waved him off and stuffed another forkful of meat into his mouth. Of course it was going to be that easy. Figure out who the guy was, and then figure out how he kept beating them. By Shawn's estimation, they'd have it done before noon.