Darkly Dreaming Dexter Part 6

Then I really am floored, Deb. What do you mean, cell crystallization?

From cold, she said. Cells that have crystallized from cold.

Light flooded my brain. Of course, I said, beautiful, and somewhere deep inside small bells began to ring.Cold ... Clean, pure cold and the cool knife almost sizzling as it slices into the warm flesh. Antiseptic clean coldness, the blood slowed and helpless, so absolutely right and totally necessary; cold . Why didn't I- I started to say. I shut up when I saw Deborah's face.

What, Deb demanded. What of course?

I shook my head. First tell me why you want to know.

She looked at me for a long hard moment and blew out another breath. I think you know, she said at last. There's been another murder.

I know, I said. I pa.s.sed it last night.

I heard you didn't actually pa.s.s it.

I shrugged. Metro Dade is such a small family.

So what did that 'of course' mean?

Nothing, I said, mildly irritated at last. The flesh of the body just looked a little different. If it was subjected to cold- I held out my hands. That's all, okay? How cold?

Like meat-packing cold, she said. Why would he do that?

Because it's beautiful, I thought. It would slow the flow of blood, I said.

She studied me. Is that important?

I took a long and perhaps slightly shaky breath. Not only could I never explain it, she would lock me up if I tried. It's vital, I said. For some reason I felt embarra.s.sed.

Why vital?

It, ah-I don't know. I think he has a thing about blood, Deb. Just a feeling I got from-I don't know, no evidence, you know.

She was giving me that look again. I tried to think of something to say, but I couldn't. Glib, silver-tongued Dexter, with a dry mouth and nothing to say.

s.h.i.+t, she said at last. That's it? Cold slows the blood, and that's vital? Come on. What the h.e.l.l good is that, Dexter?

I don't do 'good' before coffee, Deborah, I said with a heroic effort at recovery. Just accurate.

s.h.i.+t, she said again. Rose brought our coffee. Deborah sipped. Last night I got an invite to the seventy-two-hour briefing, she said.

I clapped my hands. Wonderful. You've arrived. What do you need me for? Metro Dade has a policy of pulling the homicide team together approximately seventy-two hours after a murder. The investigating officer and her team talk it over with the Medical Examiner and, sometimes, someone from the prosecutor's office. It keeps everyone on the same heading. If Deborah had been invited, she was on the case.

She scowled. I'm not good at politics, Dexter. I can feel LaGuerta pus.h.i.+ng me out, but I can't do anything about it.

Is she still looking for her mystery witness?

Deborah nodded.

Really. Even after the new kill last night?

She says that proves it. Because the new cuts were all complete.

But they were alldifferent , I protested.

She shrugged.

And you suggested-?

Deb looked away. I told her I thought it was a waste of time to look for a witness when it was obvious that the killer wasn't interrupted, just unsatisfied.

Ouch, I said. You reallydon't know anything about politics.

Well, G.o.dd.a.m.n it, Dex, she said. Two old ladies at the next table glared at her. She didn't notice. What you said made sense. Itis obvious, and she's ignoring me. And even worse.

What could be worse than being ignored? I said.

She blushed. I caught a couple of the uniforms snickering at me afterward. There's a joke going around, and I'm it. She bit her lip and looked away. Einstein, she said.

I'm afraid I don't get it.

If my t.i.ts were brains, I'd be Einstein, she said bitterly. I cleared my throat instead of laughing. That's what she's spreading about me, Deb went on. That kind of c.r.a.ppy little tag sticks to you, and then they don't promote you because they think n.o.body will respect you with a nickname like that. G.o.dd.a.m.nit, Dex, she said again, she's ruining my career.

I felt a little surge of protective warmth. She's an idiot.

Should I tell her that, Dex? Would that be political?

Our food arrived. Rose slammed the plates down in front of us as though she had been condemned by a corrupt judge to serve breakfast to baby killers. I gave her a gigantic smile and she trudged away, muttering to herself.

I took a bite and turned my thoughts to Deborah's problem. I had to try to think of it that way, Deborah's problem. Not those fascinating murders. Not that amazingly attractive MO, or the thing so similar to what I would love to do someday. I had to stay uninvolved, but this was pulling at me so very hard. Even last night's dream, with its cold air. Pure coincidence, of course, but unsettling anyway.

This killer had touched the heart of what my killing was about. In the way he worked, of course, and not in his selection of victims. He had to be stopped, certainly, no question. Those poor hookers.

Still ... The need for cold ... So very interesting to explore sometime. Find a nice dark, narrow place ...

Narrow? Where had that come from?

My dream, naturally. But that was just saying that my unconscious wanted me to think about it, wasn't it? And narrow felt right somehow. Cold and narrow- Refrigerated truck, I said.

I opened my eyes. Deborah struggled mightily with a mouthful of eggs before she could speak. What?

Oh, just a guess. Not a real insight, I'm afraid. But wouldn't it make sense?

Wouldn't what make sense? she asked.

I looked down at my plate and frowned, trying to picture how this would work. He wants a cold environment. To slow the blood flow, and because it's, uh-cleaner.

If you say so.

I do say so. And it has to be a narrow s.p.a.ce- Why? Where the h.e.l.l did that come from, narrow?

I chose not to hear that question. So a refrigerated truck would fit those conditions, and it's mobile, which makes it much easier to dump the garbage afterward.

Deborah took a bite of bagel and thought for a moment while she chewed. So, she said at last, and swallowed. The killer might have access to one of these trucks? Or own one?

Mmm, maybe. Except the kill last night was the first that showed signs of cold.

Deborah frowned. So he went out and bought a truck?

Probably not. This is still experimental. It was probably an impulse to try cold.

She nodded. And we would never get lucky enough that he drives one for a living or something, right?

I gave her my happy shark smile. Ah, Deb. How quick you are this morning. No, I'm afraid our friend is much too smart to connect himself that way.

Deborah sipped her coffee, put the cup down, and leaned back. So we're looking for a stolen refrigerator truck, she said at last.

I'm afraid so, I said. But how many of those can there be in the last forty-eight hours?

In Miami? She snorted. Somebody steals one, word gets out that it's worth stealing, and suddenly every G.o.dd.a.m.n two-bit original gangsta, marielito, crackhead, and junior wise guy has to steal one, just to keep up.

Let's hope word isn't out yet, I said.

Deborah swallowed the last of her bagel. I'll check, she said. And then she reached across the table and squeezed my hand. I really appreciate this, she said. She gave me a couple of seconds of a shy, hesitant smile. But I worry about how you come up with this stuff, Dex. I just... She looked down at the table and squeezed my hand again.

I squeezed back. Leave the worrying to me, I said. You just find that truck.

CHAPTER 8

IN THEORY,METRO'S SEVENTY-TWO-HOUR MEETINGgives everyone enough time to get somewhere with a case, but is soon enough that the leads are still warm. And so Monday morning, in a conference room on the second floor, the crack crime-fighting team led by the indomitable Detective LaGuerta a.s.sembled once again for the seventy-two-hour. I a.s.sembled with them. I got some looks, and a few good-hearted remarks from the cops who knew me. Just simple, cheerful wit, like, Hey, blood boy, where's your squeegee? Salt of the earth, these people, and soon my Deborah would be one of them. I felt proud and humble to be in the same room.

Unfortunately, these feelings were not shared by all present. The f.u.c.k you doing here? grunted Sergeant Doakes. He was a very large black man with an injured air of permanent hostility. He had a cold ferocity to him that would certainly come in handy for somebody with my hobby. It was a shame we couldn't be friends. But for some reason he hated all lab techs, and for some additional reason that had always meant especially Dexter. He also held the Metro Dade record for the bench press. So he rated my political smile.

I just dropped in to listen, Sergeant, I told him.

Got no f.u.c.king call to be here, he said. The f.u.c.k outta here.

He can stay, Sergeant, LaGuerta said.

Doakes scowled at her. The f.u.c.k for?

I don't want to make anybody unhappy, I said, edging for the door without any real conviction.

It's perfectly all right, LaGuerta said with an actual smile for me. She turned to Doakes. He can stay, she repeated.

Gimme the f.u.c.king creeps, Doakes grumbled. I began to appreciate the man's finer qualities. Of course I gave him the f.u.c.king creeps. The only real question was why he was the only one in a room filled with cops who had the insight to get the f.u.c.king creeps from my presence.

Let's get started, LaGuerta said, cracking her whip gently, leaving no room for doubt that she was in charge. Doakes slouched back in his chair with a last scowl at me.

The first part of the meeting was a matter of routine; reports, political maneuvers, all the little things that make us human. Those of us who are human, anyway. LaGuerta briefed the information officers on what they could and could not release to the press. Things they could release included a new glossy photo of LaGuerta she'd made up for the occasion. It was serious and yet glamorous; intense but refined. You could almost see her making lieutenant in that picture. If only Deborah had that kind of PR smarts.

It took most of an hour before we got around to the actual murders. But finally LaGuerta asked for reports on the progress in finding her mystery witness. n.o.body had anything to report. I tried hard to look surprised.

LaGuerta gave the group a frown of command. Come on, people, she said. Somebody needs to find something here. But n.o.body did, and there was a pause while the group studied their fingernails, the floor, the acoustic tiles in the ceiling.

Deborah cleared her throat. I, uh, she said and cleared her throat again. I had a, um, an idea. A different idea. About trying something in a slightly different direction. She said it like it was in quotation marks, and indeed it was. All my careful coaching couldn't make her sound natural when she said it, but she had at least stuck to my carefully worded politically correct phrasing.

LaGuerta raised an artificially perfect eyebrow. An idea? Really? She made a face to show how surprised and delighted she was. Please, by all means, share it with us, Officer Ein-I mean, Officer Morgan.

Doakes snickered. A delightful man.

Deborah flushed, but slogged on. The, um, cell crystallization. On the last victim. I'd like to check and see if any refrigerated trucks have been reported stolen in the last week or so.

Silence. Utter, dumb silence. The silence of the cows. They didn't get it, the brickheads, and Deborah was not making them see it. She let the silence grow, a silence LaGuerta milked with a pretty frown, a puzzled glance around the room to see if anybody else was following this, then a polite look at Deborah.

Refrigerated ... trucks? LaGuerta said.

Deborah looked completely fl.u.s.tered, the poor child. This was not a girl who enjoyed public speaking. That's right, she said.

LaGuerta let it hang, enjoying it. Mm-hmm, she said.

Deborah's face darkened; not a good sign. I cleared my throat, and when that didn't do any good I coughed, loud enough to remind her to stay cool. She looked at me. So did LaGuerta. Sorry, I said. I think I'm getting a cold.

Could anyone really ask for a better brother?

The, um,cold , Deborah blurted, lunging at my lifeline. A refrigerated vehicle could probably cause that kind of tissue damage. And it's mobile, so he'd be harder to catch. And getting rid of the body would be a lot easier. So, uh, if one was stolen, I mean a truck ... a refrigerated ... that might give us a lead.

Well, that was most of it, and she did get it out there. One or two thoughtful frowns blossomed around the room. I could almost hear gears turning.

But LaGuerta just nodded. That's a very ...interesting thought, Officer, she said. She put just the smallest emphasis on the wordofficer , to remind us all that this was a democracy where anybody could speak up, but really ... But I still believe that our best bet is to find the witness. We know he's out there. She smiled, a politically shy smile. Orshe , she said, to show that she could be sharp. But somebody saw something. We know that from theevidence . So let's concentrate on that, and leave grasping at straws for the guys in Broward, okay? She paused, waiting for a little chuckle to run around the room. But Officer Morgan, I would appreciate your continued help talking to the hookers. They know you down there.

My G.o.d, she was good. She had deflected anyone from possibly thinking about Deb's idea, put Deb in her place, and brought the team back together behind her with the joke about our rivalry with Broward County. All in a few simple words. I felt like applauding.

Except, of course, that I was on poor Deborah's team, and she had just been flattened. Her mouth opened for a moment, then closed, and I watched her jaw muscles knot as she carefully pushed her face back into Cop Neutral. In its own way, a fine performance, but truly, not even in the same league as LaGuerta's.

The rest of the meeting was uneventful. There was really nothing to talk about beyond what had been said. So very shortly after LaGuerta's masterful putdown, the meeting broke up and we were in the hall again.

d.a.m.n her, Deborah muttered under her breath. d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n,d.a.m.n her!

Absolutely, I agreed.