Disclaimer: I don't own Psych.

Author's Note: So, this fanfiction is Pre-Shules, (currently, at least! But keep in mind the description does say 'Shules' and you can count on it becoming such!)

Oh, and the chapter title IS purposely 'realize' instead of 'know it'. Also, brownie points to the people who catch the not-so-obscure TV references and tell me in a review!

Chapter Two: You're No Poet! And You Don't Even Realize It!

Shawn and Gus drove towards a small park near the Police Station, where Lassiter had instructed them to go. He hadn't given them any information about what had happened there, he just said that it had to do with Grant King.

"What could he have stolen from a park?" Shawn wondered out loud as they came to a stop in the small parking lot, where three or four police cars were already parked, their lights flashing in the air.

"This doesn't look good." Gus said, as they both unbuckled and got out of the car.

As they walked towards the crime scene, they could see yellow tape surrounding the nearby area, and Juliet walking towards them.

"Jules! You came to meet us! What's up?" Shawn asked, keeping his voice lighthearted as usual, despite what appeared to be a serious situation. Though he didn't know much about it yet.

"Oh, hey, guys. Carlton is waiting for you over there." She said, motioning over her shoulder and continuing to walk past them, but Shawn caught her by the arm to stop her from continuing.

"What happened?" He asked, his eyes clouding with concern when he realized how pale Juliet looked.

"King has killed a girl, Shawn."

"Oh." He said, surprised. He'd always thought big thieves had a little more self control. He'd always supposed they didn't kill in cold blood. He'd been wrong.

He saw Jules look down at where he still held her arm, and he released her, allowing her to walk past him again. He watched her leave, wondering why the murder had affected her so much. She was a police detective. She was used to this. So what was wrong?

Pondering the question, he led the way to where a group of officers were standing near yellow tape that marked the crime scene. When they were close, they could see a young woman lying motionless in the park, but she could almost have been sleeping. Shawn swallowed. He always tried to keep things light in situations like this, but it wasn't because he was a heartless monster. It was because the alternative was to let the true horror of the situation envelope you, and if you did that, the crime would become too heartbreaking to solve.

He heard Lassie saying, "...Her name was Marie Smith, she was 26 years old, King left a note." He said, holding an envelope in his plastic glove covered hands.

"What's it say?" Shawn asked, curiously.

Uncomfortably, Lassiter cleared his throat, took the note out of the envelope and read clearly,


Fighting for Justice, are you?
So this is what I'll do,
In the name of Justice will repay,
Everything you took that day,
Her life for his,
but mind this!
Prison life is no life,
So I'll take yours to end this strife!
All of this in Justice name,
Tell me, what have I not to gain?

G. King."

"Woah, that guy thinks 'name' and 'gain' rhyme? Seriously?" Shawn asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Shawn!" Gus said, his voice annoyed.

"What? I was just saying! Anyway, you sure King left that?" He asked, directing his second question to Lassiter.

The detective nodded, though annoyance was written on his face, "It's his handwriting, but we're going to check it for prints just to be sure."

"So what's this guy have against you, Lassie?" Shawn asked, keeping his voice light and cheerful.

"Spencer! Have you even been paying attention? King couldn't care less about me."

"It's me he has something against, Shawn." Juliet's voice came from behind him. He figured she must have just come back from wherever she had been off too.

"Wait a minute..." Shawn held up a hand and thought for a moment, "Wait, 'Her life for his' This girl is 'her' right?" He said, motioning to the dead body, "And 'His' must refer to his buddy, Daniels. But why her?"

Juliet swallowed and replied in a strained voice, "My best friend in college, Shawn. She didn't even live in Santa Barbara, but he found her."

"Oh, Jules..." Suddenly Shawn hated himself for his insensitive comments, he tried to think of some kind apology, but nothing came to him. That just wasn't his forte. Thankfully he was saved from having to say anything by the chief, who chose that moment to speak.

"As a murder is now involved, this case has become that much more serious. We need to find King. Mr. Spencer, if you divine any, and I mean any, information about where he might be, tell us right away. Don't go near him yourselves. King is dangerous. I can't stress that enough."

"Chief! Chief! Don't worry! Gus and I have got this covered! Don't we, buddy?" He said, patting Gus on the shoulder.

"You know that's right." Came Gus's assurance.

The chief gave them a look indicating she wasn't so sure.


Gus and Shawn sat in the Blueberry wondering what their next move should be. Shawn thought about all the things that had happened at the crime scene, and everything he had been told about King and tried to piece together where he would go next. But nothing seemed to come to him, psychically or otherwise.

"I'm not getting anything, Gus. I mean, why are my awesome psychic detective skills failing me now?" Shawn let out a dramatic sigh and folded his arms, as if somehow pouting would make things better.

"Shawn, I think sometimes you forget you don't have awesome psychic skills."

"Ah, but I meant to stress the 'detective' part of that sentence. But where would his hideout be?"

"He could be halfway across the world by now." Gus told him, which was true, but something told Shawn that King was nearby.

"No. His mother is here, I don't think he'll leave her without meeting her somehow. He sounded like a momma's boy to me." Shawn relayed his thoughts to Gus, but he stopped talking for a moment as his mind drifted back to the note King had left behind. "Dude, I can't believe he killed Jules' friend all the way from Miami... I mean, either this guy is really determined, or something doesn't add up." Shawn frowned as he thought out loud, and then suddenly a thought occurred to him. "Hey Gus, I think I can figure out where King is!"

"What? How?" Gus demanded, looking like he couldn't decide if he was more speculative or surprised by what Shawn told him.

"Think about his note... Hey, do you still have Mrs. King's number written down?"

"Yes, here, why?" Gus asked, handing him a piece of paper with the phone number written on it.

"Sweet," He quickly dialed the number and listened to the ring tone, tapping his fingers on the glass windows impatiently.


"Mrs. King! Hi!" Shawn said, cheerfully.

"Oh, hi Mr. Spencer! How can I help you?"

"I was just rather curious, did Grant like poetry?" Shawn asked, trying to keep his tone light and conversational. He wanted Mrs. King to tell him a lot about her son, but she might not do that if she thought they were about to find him.

"Oh, he simply adored poetry. You know he would always hang out at that 'Poet's Know it' shop down the street? Anyway! Why do you ask about my dear boy?"

"Oh, simply curious, thank you Mrs. King!"

"Any time, Mr. Spencer! You and Mr. Guster feel free to come by for cookies at any time. You two boys were just such sweet visitors!" Gushed Mrs. King, cheerily.

"Thanks, Mrs. K! We'll do that! Bye!" He hung up the phone and looked at Gus, "Drive straight down the street, I'll tell you where to go. Also, at some point we are invited for cookies at Mrs. King's house. Do you think she'll still like us if we arrest her son?"

"Somehow, I think not." Gus said, "I am not driving though, Shawn. We're supposed to call the chief if we know where he is."

"No! Gus! That would cause all sorts of problems. First of all, the police couldn't be sneaky at all. It's daylight and King will start shooting like he did last time. Nooo, we gotta be subtle this time, Gus!"

"You say 'this time' like we don't make the same mistake over and over again!"

"Aww, come on! When has it ever been a mistake?"

"Well, let's think, the time we snuck onto that oil rig and got locked in a closet with toxic gas and nearly shot! The time we got strapped to chairs and nearly killed by a serial killer, the time we-"

"But think of all the times it's worked Gus, now come on! Drive!"

"You owe me about a thousand times." Gus said grudgingly.

"Sure, buddy, but let's go!"


They pulled into an extremely tiny parking lot with only three parking spots. It sat right in front of the small store that sold entirely books about poetry. The shop looked worn down and almost like it could fall over if they opened the door. On the front of it a sign read 'Poet's, Know It'

"Man, who would want to hang out here?" Shawn said, wonderingly as he stared at the pathetic excuse for a building.

"A murderer, that's who!" Gus replied in a hushed voice, "Now, come on Shawn. Call Lassiter and Juliet."

"I thought we already talked about this?" He exclaimed, rolling his eyes at Gus, before looking around the cars in the tiny parking lot. Two of the three parking spots had already been occupied by cars when they arrived, now all three spots were taken. Shawn had to guess that one car belonged to an employee, while the other must be a costumer's, probably Grant King's. Or at least, a car that Grant King had either borrowed or stolen.

"Besides, another car won't even fit in here, so that answers the question! That's that and no harm done."

"I'm not so sure about the 'no harm done' part." Gus replied immediately,

"You must be one of those 'Glass half empty' kind of guys." Shawn commented to his friend, as he began to approach the door of the little shop.

"No, I'm just smart, Shawn! And I know when it's a good idea to call the police. Do you know who dies in horror movies? The idiots who look for trouble!"

"Also, the cute blonds." Shawn commented, looking amused. Suddenly, though, he halted and spun around to face Gus, and with an extremely serious look on his face said, "We need to tell Jules to dye her hair!" His face broke into a grin, and satisfied with his joke, he turned and opened the door of the shop wide.

A bell above the door rung, signaling their entrance to a young woman standing behind the cash register. The woman was thin and frail looking, with messy brown hair and dark lines under her brown eyes. Though not as old, she looked about as worn and frail as the little shop did. Her eyes were wide, as if she were surprised at having new visitors.

After a whole minute of silence had passed, the woman's words came out in a blur, "Hi! Welcome to Poet's Know it! Feel free to look around and let me know if you need anything!" She sounded almost nervous. She probably wasn't used to costumers, Shawn figured.

"Thanks. We're just going to look around." Shawn said calmly, but the woman jumped nervously when he spoke.

Shrugging, he and Gus made their way to the back of the store, and since it wasn't very big, that didn't take long. There were probably only eight aisles of books from the front of the store to the back, four on each side. And Gus and Shawn looked down each aisle as they walked, but all seemed empty. When they reached the back, they saw two small reading chairs with a coffee table in front of them. They almost didn't fit behind the book shelf, and were so close that it would have been difficult to actually find any books on that side of the shelf without running into a coffee table.

Sitting in one of the chairs was a thin man, probably in his late twenties. He had black hair and his face was buried in a thick book of poetry. He looked totally wrapped up in what he was reading, and he didn't seem to notice Shawn and Gus there.

"Hi!" Shawn burst out suddenly, causing the man to look up at him. "My name is Shawn, and this is my buddy, Doctor Horrible."

"I hope you've seen my blog?" Gus asked, playing along.

"Uh, no. I'm sorry. You're a doctor?" The man asked, seeming confused by the fact that two strangers were speaking to him.

"No, his first name is Doctor. His parents were rather odd. Also, fans of that strange British science fiction show."

"That's Doctor Who, Shawn, and it's actually pretty good." Gus replied, in an almost disapproving voice.

"Just because it's strange doesn't make it bad, Dr. H!" Shawn gave Gus a hearty pat on the shoulder, before turning back to the man in front of them, "What's your name, buddy?"

"Uh. Grant."

Shawn was a little surprised that such a thin, normal looking man could be considered a violent criminal, "Hi Grant! You like poetry, huh?"

The man's face lit up, and he said quickly, "Cast me upon some bare shore, where I may trek. Only the print of some sad wreck, if thou be there, though the seas roar. I shall no gentler calm implore."

"Wow, that's good. Did you write that?" Shawn asked, in a friendly manner. Even though he really couldn't have cared less about poetic genius.

"No. It's by Habington. It was quoted in North and South, by Elizabeth Gaskell."

"You know, Grant, my buddy Dr. H and I are having a little poetry reading, down at our place. Where folks can come and read some of their own poetry, or some that they just enjoy. If you know, you want to come?"

Grant smiled and said, "Really? Thanks! That'd be great!"

"Sweet! See you there!" Shawn said, writing down an address on a piece of paper and handing it to Grant. "8:00 PM sharp!"

"I'll be there!"


As they walked away, Gus said, "That was possibly the most idiotic thing you've done today, Shawn! Giving him our office address?"

"Don't be silly Gus! I gave him my father's address! Not Psych's. Also, invite a date! We need to make this look like a pre-planned event. I'll invite one too."

"I am not going to bring a girl I like to a poetry party with a murderer!" Gus objected.

"Oh, Grant King isn't a murderer. He was framed."

"Juliet saw him kill fifty officers!"

"I'm sure there's a way to explain that too. We just have to investigate more."

"Why do you think he isn't a murderer?" Gus asked, the annoyance had left his voice and was now replaced by curiosity.

"Did you see how wrapped up he was in his book? A man who had just murdered a girl wouldn't have been able to sit so still. But he hardly moved until we talked to him! Also, I mean, did you look at him? He is hardly murderer material. And, did you not hear that poem that was left? If he loved poetry so much, don't you think he'd have left a higher quality poem? Oh no, Grant King was definitely framed. We just need to find out by whom."

Author's Note: I realize I slightly misquoted that poem (Habington) but it was only slightly edited to make it more understandable. So if anyone who knew that poem before reading this story was wondering why it wasn't exact, that is why :) Also! Brownie points if you knew it before. Isn't it a lovely poem? And I'm not even big on poetry! Also, points to anyone who got the Doctor Horrible and Doctor Who references! :) Please, please review!