Darkly Dreaming Dexter Part 13

It hardly seems fair to blame me for all that.

G.o.dd.a.m.n it, Dex, she said, and hung up.

The early-morning TV shows spent a full ninety seconds on the shocking discovery of the shattered body. Channel 7 had the best adjectives. But n.o.body knew any more than the paper. They radiated outrage and a grim sense of disaster that even carried over into the weather forecast, but I'm sure a large part of it was caused by the lack of pictures.

Another beautiful Miami day. Mutilated corpses with a chance of afternoon showers. I got dressed and went to work.

I admit I had a minor ulterior motive in heading for the office so early, and I beefed it up by stopping for pastries. I bought two crullers, an apple fritter, and a cinnamon roll the size of my spare tire. I ate the fritter and one cruller as I cheerfully threaded through the lethal traffic. I don't know how I get away with eating so many doughnuts. I don't gain weight or get pimples, and although that may seem unfair, I can't find it in my heart to complain. I came out reasonably well in the genetic c.r.a.pshoot: high metabolism, good size and strength, all of which helped me in my hobby. And I have been told that I am not awful to look at, which I believe is meant to be a compliment.

I also didn't need a great deal of sleep, which was nice this morning. I had hoped to arrive early enough to beat Vince Masuoka to work, and it seemed that I had. His office was dark when I got there, clutching my white paper bag for camouflage-but my visit had nothing whatever to do with doughnuts. I scanned his work area quickly, looking for the telltale evidence box labeledJAWORSKI and yesterday's date.

I found it and quickly lifted out a few tissue samples. There might be enough. I pulled on a pair of latex gloves and in a moment had pressed the samples to my clean gla.s.s slide. I do realize how stupid it was to take yet another risk, but I had to have my slide.

I had just tucked it away in a ziplock baggie when I heard him come in behind me. I quickly put things back in place and whirled to face the door, as Vince came through and saw me.

My G.o.d, I said. You move so silently. So youhave had ninja training.

I have two older brothers, Vince said. It's the same thing.

I held up the white paper bag and bowed. Master, I bring a gift.

He looked at the bag curiously. May Buddha bless you, gra.s.shopper. What is it?

I tossed him the bag. It hit him in the chest and slid to the floor. So much for ninja training, I said.

My finely tuned body needs coffee to function, Vince told me, bending to retrieve the bag. What's in here? That hurt. He reached into the bag, frowning. It better not be body parts. He pulled out the huge cinnamon roll and eyed it. Ay, caramba. My village will not starve this year. We are very grateful, gra.s.shopper. He bowed, holding up the pastry. A debt repaid is a blessing on us all, my child.

In that case, I said, do you have the case file on the one they found last night off Old Cutler?

Vince took a big bite of cinnamon roll. His lips gleamed with frosting as he slowly chewed. Mmmpp, he said, and swallowed. Are we feeling left out?

If we means Deborah, yes we are, I said. I told her I'd take a look at the file for her.

Wulf, he said, mouth full of pastry, merf pluddy uh bud is nime.

Forgive me, master, I said. Your language is strange to me.

He chewed and swallowed. I said, at least there's plenty of blood this time. But you're still a wallflower. Bradley got the call for this one.

Can I see the file?

He took a bite. Ee waf awife- Very true, I'm sure. And in English?

Vince swallowed. I said, he was still alive when his leg came off.

Human beings are so resilient, aren't they?

Vince stuck the whole pastry in his mouth and picked up the file, holding it out to me and taking a large bite of the roll at the same time. I grabbed the folder.

I've got to go, I said. Before you try to talk again.

He pulled the roll from his mouth. Too late, he said.

I walked slowly back to my little cubbyhole, glancing at the contents of the folder. Gervasio Cesar Martez had discovered the body. His statement was on top of the folder. He was a security guard, employed by Sago Security Systems. He had worked for them for fourteen months and had no criminal record. Martez had found the body at approximately 10:17PM and immediately made a quick search of the area before calling police. He wanted to catch thependejo who had done this thing because no one should do such things and they had done it when he, Gervasio, was on the job. That was like they had done it to him, you know? So he would catch the monster himself. But this had not been possible. There was no sign of the perpetrator, not anywhere, and so he had called the police.

The poor man had taken it personally. I shared his outrage. Such brutality should not be allowed. Of course, I was also very grateful that his sense of honor had given me time to get away. And here I had always thought morality was useless.

I turned the corner into my dark little room and walked right into Detective LaGuerta. Hah, she said. You don't see so good. But she didn't move.

I'm not a morning person, I told her. My biorhythms are all off until noon.

She looked up at me from an inch away. They look okay to me, she said.

I slid around her to my desk. Can I make some small contribution to the full majesty of the law this morning? I asked her.

She stared at me. You have a message, she said. On your machine.

I looked over at my answering machine. Sure enough, the light was blinking. The woman really was a detective.

It's some girl, LaGuerta said. She sounds kind of sleepy and happy. You got a girlfriend, Dexter? There was a strange hint of challenge in her voice.

You know how it is, I said. Women today are so forward, and when you are as handsome as I am they absolutely fling themselves at your head. Perhaps an unfortunate choice of words; as I said it I couldn't help thinking of the woman's head flung at me not so long ago.

Watch out, LaGuerta said. Sooner or later one of them will stick. I had no idea what she thought that meant, but it was a very unsettling image.

I'm sure you're right, I said. Until then, carpe diem.

What?

It's Latin, I said. It means, complain in daylight.

What have you got about this thing last night? she said suddenly.

I held up the case file. I was just looking at it, I said.

It's not the same, she said, frowning. No matter what those a.s.shole reporters say. McHale is guilty. He confessed. This one is not the same.

I guess it seems like too much of a coincidence, I said. Two brutal killers at the same time.

LaGuerta shrugged. It's Miami, what do they think? Here is where these guys come on vacation. There's lots of bad guys out there. I can't catch them all.

To be truthful, she couldn't catch any of them unless they hurled themselves off a building and into the front seat of her car, but this didn't seem like a good time to bring that up. LaGuerta stepped closer to me and flicked the folder with a dark red fingernail. I need you to find something here, Dexter. To show it's not the same.

A light dawned. She was getting unpleasant pressure, probably from Captain Matthews, a man who believed what he read in the papers as long as they spelled his name right. And she needed some ammunition to fight back. Of course it's not the same, I said. But why come to me?

She stared at me for a moment through half-closed eyes, a curious effect. I think I had seen the same stare in some of the movies Rita had dragged me to see, but why on earth Detective LaGuerta had turned the look on me I couldn't say. I let you in the seventy-two-hour briefing, she said. Even though Doakes wants you dead, I let you stay.

Thank you very much.

Because you have a feeling for these things sometimes. The serial ones. That's what they all say. Dexter has a feeling sometimes.

Oh, really, I said, just a lucky guess once or twice.

And I need somebody in the lab who can find something.

Then why not ask Vince?

He's not so cute, she said. You find something.

She was still uncomfortably close, so close I could smell her shampoo. I'll find something, I said.

She nodded at the answering machine. You gonna call her back? You don't have time for chasing p.u.s.s.y.

She still hadn't backed up, and it took me a moment to realize she was talking about the message on my machine. I gave her my very best political smile. I think it's chasing me, Detective.

Hah. You got that right. She gave me a long look, then turned and walked away.

I don't know why, but I watched her go. I really couldn't think of anything else to do. Just before she pa.s.sed out of sight around the corner, she smoothed her skirt across her hips and turned to look at me. Then she was gone, off into the vague mysteries of Homicidal Politics.

And me? Poor dear dazed Dexter? What else could I do? I sank into my office chair and pushed the play b.u.t.ton on my answering machine. Hi, Dexter. It's me. Of course it was. And as odd as it was, the slow, slightly raspy voice sounded like me was Rita. Mm ... I was thinking about last night. Call me, mister. As LaGuerta had observed, she sounded kind of tired and happy. Apparently I had a real girlfriend now.

Where would the madness end?

CHAPTER 18

FOR A FEW MOMENTSIJUST SAT AND THOUGHT about life's cruel ironies. After so many years of solitary self-reliance, I was suddenly pursued from all directions by hungry women. Deb, Rita, LaGuerta-they were all apparently unable to exist without me. Yet the one person I wanted to spend some quality time with was being coy, leaving Barbie dolls in my freezer. Was any of this fair?

I put my hand in my pocket and felt the small gla.s.s slide, snug and secure in its ziplock. For a moment it made me feel a little better. At least I was doing something. And life's only obligation, after all, was to be interesting, which it certainly was at the moment. Interesting did not begin to describe it. I would trade a year off my life to find out more about this elusive will-o'-the-wisp who was teasing me so mercilessly with such elegant work. In fact, I had come far too close to trading more than a year with my little Jaworski interlude.

Yes, things were certainly interesting. And were they really saying in the department that I had a feeling for serial homicide? That was very troubling. It meant my careful disguise might be close to unraveling. I had been too good too many times. It could become a problem. But what could I do? Be stupid for a while? I wasn't sure I knew how, even after so many years of careful observation.

Ah, well. I opened the case file on Jaworski, the poor man. After an hour of study, I came to a couple of conclusions. First, and most important, I was going to get away with it, in spite of the unforgivable sloppy impulsiveness of the thing. And second-there might be a way for Deb to cash in on this. If she could prove this was the work of our original artist while LaGuerta committed herself to the copycat theory, Deb could suddenly turn from somebody they didn't trust to get their coffee into flavor of the month. Of course, it was not actually the work of the same guy, but that seemed like a very picky objection at this point. And since I knew without any possibility of doubt that there were going to be more bodies found very soon, it wasn't worth worrying about.

And naturally, at the same time, I had to provide the annoying Detective LaGuerta with enough rope to hang herself. Which might also, it occurred to me, come in handy on a more personal level. Pushed into a corner and made to look like an idiot, LaGuerta would naturally try to pin the blame on the nitwit lab tech who had given her the erroneous conclusion-dull dim Dexter. And my reputation would suffer a much-needed relapse into mediocrity. Of course, it would not jeopardize my job, since I was supposed to a.n.a.lyze blood spatter, not provide profiling services. That being the case, it would help to make LaGuerta look like the nitwit she was, and raise Deborah's stock even more.

Lovely when things work out so neatly. I called Deborah.

At half-past one the next day I met Deb at a small restaurant a few blocks north of the airport. It was tucked into a little strip mall, between an auto parts store and a gun shop. It was a place we both knew well, not too far from Miami-Dade Headquarters, and they made the best Cuban sandwiches in the world right there. Perhaps that seems like a small thing, but I a.s.sure you there are times when only amedianoche will do, and at such times Cafe Relampago was the only place to get one. The Morgans had been going there since 1974.

And I did feel that some small light touch was in order-if not an actual celebration, then at least an acknowledgment that things were looking up ever so slightly. Perhaps I was merely feeling chipper because I had let off a little steam with my dear friend Jaworski, but in any case I did feel unaccountably good. I even ordered abatido de mame , a uniquely flavored Cuban milk shake that tastes something like a combination of watermelon, peach, and mango.

Deb, of course, was unable to share my irrational mood. She looked like she had been studying the facial expressions of large fish, dour and droopy in the extreme.

Please, Deborah, I begged her, if you don't stop, your face will be stuck like that. People will take you for a grouper.

They're sure not going to take me for a cop, she said. Because I won't be one anymore.

Nonsense, I said. Didn't I promise?

Yeah. You also promised that this was going to work. But you didn't say anything about the looks I'd get from Captain Matthews.

Oh, Deb, I said. Helooked at you? I'm so sorry.

f.u.c.k you, Dexter. You weren't there, and it's not your life going down the tubes.

I told you it was going to be rough for a while, Debs.

Well at least you were right about that. According to Matthews, I am this close to being suspended.

But he did give you permission to use your free time to look into this a little more?

She snorted. He said, 'I can't stop you, Morgan. But I am very disappointed. And I wonder what your father would have said.'

And did you say, 'My father never would have closed the case with the wrong guy in jail'?

She looked surprised. No, she said. But I was thinking it. How did you know?

But you didn't actuallysay it, did you, Deborah?

No, she said.

I pushed her gla.s.s toward her. Have somemame , sis. Things are looking up.

She looked at me. You sure you're not just yanking my chain?

Never, Deb. How could I?

With the greatest of ease.

Really, sis. You need to trust me.

She held my eye for a moment and then looked down. She still hadn't touched her shake, which was a shame. They were very good. I trust you. But I swear to G.o.d I don't know why. She looked up at me, a strange expression flitting back and forth across her face. And sometimes I really don't think I should, Dexter.

I gave her my very best rea.s.suring big-brother smile. Within the next two or three days something new will turn up. I promise.

You can't know that, she said.

I know I can't, Deb. But I do know. I really do.

So why do you sound so happy about it?