Psyc 03_The Call of the Mild by William Rabkin Page A

they have a camera positioned above the booth to record the face of anyone dropping off or claiming an item.”
    That was a task Gus didn’t mind tackling. Unfortunately there was one small problem he couldn’t solve.
    “It seems that the Descanso Gardens lost-and-found department doesn’t have a computer,” Gus said after some time of fruitless searching. “Or, if they do, it’s not online.”
    “How about the snack bar?” Shawn said. “Can you get into their computer?”
    “Why?”
    “I want to know if they’ve restocked their ice-cream sandwiches yet,” Shawn said. “If we’re going to have to schlep all the way down there again, I want to know there’s at least going to be a tasty treat at the finish line.”
    Gus dropped into a guest chair. “This is crazy.”
    “I know, I know,” Shawn said. “It’s much cheaper to buy our own ice-cream sandwiches at the supermarket and bring them with us, instead of paying the ridiculous markup they charge at tourist traps like Descanso. But even if we bring a cold bag, they’re still going to be pretty melty by the time we get to La Canada.”
    “I don’t understand why we’re going to La Canada in the first place,” Gus said. “Do you really think the killer mime is still out there, waiting for someone else to walk by with a necklace for him to steal?”
    Shawn was about to respond, but just before the first word left his mouth he cut it off.
    “What?” Gus said.
    “You’re right,” Shawn said. “Why La Canada?”
    “Well,” Gus said, suddenly wondering if he’d been too hasty, as he always did when someone actually took his advice. “There might have been someone who saw the mime and can help us identify him. Better yet, we could get the names of all the people who paid their admission with credit cards that day, track them down, and see if they took any pictures that have the mime in them.”
    “That’s not what I meant,” Shawn said. “Obviously we’d go to La Canada because that’s where the crime happened. The question is why did it happen there?”
    “Because that’s where the necklace was?”
    Shawn let out a deep sigh. “I’m going to try this one more time,” he said.
    “Why?” Gus said.
    “Why what?”
    “Why are you going to try one more time?” Gus said. “Why are you going to drop one more vaguely suggestive clue phrased as an open-ended question? Why don’t you just come out and say what you’re thinking?”
    “It’s called the Socratic method,” Shawn said. “It’s a form of teaching that involves asking questions to stimulate thought and debate. Although why Professor Kingsfield would name an entire method after some obscure alternative rock band from New Jersey is beyond me. Why are you staring at me?”
    Gus was staring at Shawn—staring with a mixture of awe and horror. “How is this possible?” he said finally.
    “What’s that?”
    “How can one body contain such a mixture of arcane knowledge and sheer ignorance?” Gus said.
    “That’s what they say about the Internet, and it’s doing all right,” Shawn said. “Didn’t you have a point a while back?”
    “I didn’t have a point,” Gus said. “I was hoping that you did, and if that was indeed the case you would share it with me rather than asking a bunch of rhetorical questions.”
    “Then how will you ever leave here thinking like a lawyer?” Shawn said.
    “I’m about to leave here thinking like a pharmaceuticals salesman,” Gus said. “Not to mention a former detective.”
    “Okay, okay,” Shawn said. “Let’s work this through together.”
    “You already worked it through on your own,” Gus said. “Just tell me so we can get on with our lives.”
    “Just tell you?”
    “Yes.”
    “Without any questions at all?” Shawn looked troubled.
    “I’m sure you can handle it.”
    “I can’t say I share your confidence, but I’ll try,” Shawn said. He took a breath. “Okay, here’s what I was getting at. The backstory, if