Dexter 3 - Dexter in the Dark (12 page)

said. They both nodded.
“If the fish were really smart, like people, what would they do?”
“Wear a disguise,” Astor giggled. “That's right,” I said,
and even Cody smiled. "What kind of disguise would you recommend? A wig
and a

beard?"

“Dex-ter,” Astor
said. “They're fish. Fish don't wear beards.” “Oh,” I said.
“So they would still want to look like fish?” “Of course,”
she said, as if I was too stupid to understand big words. “What kind of
fish?” I said. “Great big ones? Like sharks?”
“Normal,” Cody said. His sister looked at him for a moment, and then
nodded. “Whatever there's lots of in the area,” she said.
“Something that won't scare away what they want to eat.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. They both looked at the fish in silence for a
moment. It was Cody who first got it. He frowned and looked

at me. I smiled encouragingly. He whispered something
to Astor, who looked startled. She opened her mouth to say something, and then
stopped. “Oh,” she said.

“Yes,” I said. “Oh.” She looked at
Cody, who looked up again from the piranha. Again, they didn't say anything
aloud, but there was an entire conversation. I let it run its course, until
they looked up at me. “What can we learn from piranha?” I said.

“Don't look
ferocious,” Cody said. “Look like something normal,” Astor said
grudgingly. “But Dexter, fish aren't people.” “That's exactly
right,” I said. "Because people survive by recognizing things that
look dangerous. And

fish get caught. We don't want to.“ They looked
at me solemnly, then back at the fish. ”So what else have we learned
today?" I asked after a moment.

“Don't get caught,” Astor said. I sighed. At
least it was a start, but there was much work yet to do. “Come on,” I
said. “Let's see some of the other exhibits.”

I was not really very familiar with the museum,
perhaps because until recently I'd had no children to drag in there. So I was
definitely improvising, looking for things that might get them started toward
thinking and learning the right things. The piranha had been a stroke of luck,
I admit-they had simply popped into view and my giant brain had supplied the
correct lesson. Finding the next piece of happy coincidence was not as easy,
and it was half an hour of trudging grimly through the murderous crowd of kids
and their vicious parents before we came to the lion exhibit.

Once again, the ferocious
appearance and reputation proved irresistible to Cody and Astor, and they came
to a halt in front of the exhibit. It was a stuffed lion, of course, what I
think they call a diorama, but it held their attention. The male lion stood
proudly over the body of a gazelle, mouth wide and fangs gleaming. Beside him
were two females and a cub. There was a two-page explanation that went with the

exhibit, and about halfway
down the second page I found what I needed. “Well now,” I said
brightly. “Aren't we glad we're not lions?” “No,” said
Cody. “It says here,” I said, “that when a male lion takes over
a lion family-” “It's called a pride, Dexter,” Astor said.
“It was in Lion King.” “All right,” I said. “When a
new daddy lion takes over a pride, he kills all the cubs.” “That's
horrible,” Astor said. I smiled to show her my sharp teeth. “No, it's
perfectly natural,” I said. "To protect his own and make

sure that it's his cubs that rule the roost. Lots of
predators do that."

“What does that have to do with us?” Astor
said. “You're not going to kill us when you marry Mom, are you?”
“Of course not,” I said. “You are my cubs now.” “Then
so what?” she said. I opened my mouth to explain to her and then felt all
the air rush out of me. My mouth hung open but I

couldn't speak, because my
brain was whirling with a thought so far-fetched that I didn't even bother to

deny it. Lots of predators do that, I heard myself
say. To protect his own, I had said. Whatever made me a predator, its home was
in the Dark Passenger. And now something had scared away the Passenger. Was it
possible that, that-

That what? A new daddy
Passenger was threatening my Passenger? I had run into many people in my life
who had the shadow of something similar to mine hung over them, and nothing had
ever happened with them except mutual recognition and a bit of inaudible
snarling. This was too stupid even to think about-Passengers didn't have
daddies.

Did they?
“Dexter,” Astor said. “You're scaring us.” I admit that I
was scaring me, too. The thought that the Passenger could have a parent
stalking it with

lethal intentions was appallingly stupid-but then, after all, where had
the Passenger really come from? I was reasonably sure that it was more than a
psychotic figment of my disordered brain. I was not schizophrenic-both of us
were sure of that. The fact that it was now gone proved that it had an
independent existence.

And this meant that the
Passenger had come from somewhere. It had existed before me. It had a source,
whether you called it a parent or anything else. “Earth to Dexter,”
Astor said, and I realized that I still stood in front of them frozen in my
unlikely,

foolish openmouthed pose like a pedantic zombie.

“Yes,” I said stupidly, “I was just
thinking.”

“Did it hurt a lot?” she said.

I closed my mouth and looked at her. She was facing me
with her look of ten-year-old disgust at how dumb grown-ups can be, and this
time I agreed with her. I had always taken the Passenger for granted, so much
so that I had never really wondered where it had come from, or how it had come
to be. I had been smug, fatuously content to share space with it, simply glad
to be me and not some other, emptier mortal, and now, when a little
self-knowledge might have saved the day, I was struck dumb. Why had I never
thought of any of these things before? And why did I have to choose now as the
first time, in the presence of a sarcastic child? I had to devote some time and
thought to this-but of course, this was neither the time nor the place.

“Sorry,” I said. “Let's go see the
planetarium.”

“But you were going to tell us why lions are
important,” she said.

In truth, I could no longer remember why lions were
important. But happily for my image, my cell phone began to chatter before I
could admit it. “Just a minute,” I said, and I pulled the phone from
its holster. I glanced at it and saw that it was Deborah. And after all, family
is family, so I answered.

“They found the heads,” she said.

It took me a moment to figure out what she meant, but Deborah was
hissing in my ear and I realized some sort of response was called for.
“The heads? From the two bodies over at the university?” I said.

Deborah made an exasperated hissing noise and said,
“Jesus, Dex, there aren't that many missing heads in town.”

“Well, there's city hall,” I said.

“Get your ass over here, Dexter. I need
you.”

“But Deborah, it's Saturday, and I'm in the
middle of-”

“Now,” she said, and hung up.

I looked at Cody and Astor and pondered my quandary. If I took them
home it would be at least an hour before I got back to Debs, and in addition we
would lose our precious Saturday quality time together. On the other hand, even
I knew that taking children to a homicide scene might be considered a little
bit eccentric.

But it would also be educational. They needed to be
impressed with just how thorough the police are when dead bodies turn up, and
this was as good an opportunity as any. On balance, even taking into
consideration that my dear sister might have a semi-ballistic reaction, I
decided it would be best simply to pile into the car and take them to their
first investigation.

“All right,” I
said to them as I reholstered my phone. “We have to go now.”

“Where?” Cody
said. “To help my sister,” I said. “Will you remember what we
learned today?” “Yes, but this is just a museum,” Astor said.
“It's not what we want to learn.” “Yes, it is,” I said. “And
you have to trust me, and do it my way, or I'm not going to teach you.” I
leaned

down to where I could look them both in the eyes.
“Not doodly-squat,” I said. Astor frowned. “Dex-terrrr,”
she said. “I mean it. It has to be my way.” Once again she and Cody
locked glances. After a moment he nodded, and she turned back to me. "All

right,“ she said. ”We promise.“
”We'll wait,“ Cody said. ”We understand,“ Astor said.
”When can we start the cool stuff?“ ”When I say,“ I said.
”Anyway, right now we have to go.“ She switched immediately back to
snippy ten-year-old. ”Now where do we have to go?“ ”I have to go
to work,“ I said. ”So I'm taking you with me.“ ”To see a
body?“ she asked hopefully. I shook my head. ”Just the head,“ I
said. She looked at Cody and shook her head. ”Mom won't like it.“
”You can wait in the car if you want to,“ I said. ”Let's
go," said Cody, his longest speech all day. We went.

DEBORAH WAS WAITING AT A MODEST $2 MILLION HOUSE on a
private cul-de-sac in Coconut Grove. The street was sealed off from just inside
the guard booth to the house itself, about halfway down on the left, and a
crowd of indignant residents stood around on their carefully manicured lawns
and walkways, fuming at the swarm of low-rent social undesirables from the
police department who had invaded their little paradise. Deborah was in the
street instructing a videographer in what to shoot and from what angles. I
hurried over to join her, with Cody and Astor trailing along right behind.

“What the hell is that?” Deborah demanded,
glaring from the kids to me.

“They are known as
children,” I told her. "They are often a byproduct of marriage, which
may be why

you are unfamiliar with them."

“Are you off your fucking nut bringing them
here?” she snapped.

“You're not supposed to say that word,” Astor told Deborah
with a glare. “You owe me fifty cents for saying it.”

Deborah opened her mouth, turned bright red, and closed it again.
“You gotta get them outta here,” she finally said. “They
shouldn't see this.”

“We want to see it,” Astor said.

“Hush,” I told them. “Both of
you.”

“Jesus Christ, Dexter,” Deborah said.

“You told me to come right away,” I said.
“I came.”

“I can't play nursemaid to a couple of
kids,” Deborah said.

“You don't have to,” I said. “They'll
be fine.”

Deborah stared at the two of them; they stared back.
Nobody blinked, and for a moment I thought my dear sister would chew off her
lower lip. Then she shook herself. “Screw it,” she said. “I
don't have time for a hassle. You two wait over there.” She pointed to her
car, which was parked across the street, and grabbed me by the arm. She dragged
me toward the house where all the activity was humming. “Lookit,” she
said, and pointed at the front of the house.

On the phone, Deborah had told me they found the
heads, but in truth it would have taken a major effort to miss them. In front
of the house, the short driveway curled through a pair of coral-rock gateposts
before puddling into a small courtyard with a fountain in the middle. On top of
each gatepost was an ornate lamp. Chalked on the driveway between the posts was
something that looked like the letters MLK, except that it was in a strange
script that I did not recognize. And to make sure that no one spent too long
puzzling out the message, on top of each gatepost-

Well. Although I had to admit the display had a
certain primitive vigor and an undeniable dramatic impact, it was really far
too crude for my taste. Even though the heads apparently had been carefully
cleaned, the eyelids were gone and the mouths had been forced into a strange
smile by the heat, and it was not pleasant. Certainly no one on-site asked my
opinion, but I have always felt that there should be no leftovers. It's untidy,
and it shows a lack of a real workmanlike spirit. And for these heads to be
left so conspicuously-this was mere showing off, and demonstrated an unrefined
approach to the problem. Still, there's no accounting for taste. I'm always
willing to admit that my technique is not the only way. And as always in
aesthetic matters, I waited for some small sibilant whisper of agreement from
the Dark Passenger-but of course, there was nothing.

Not a murmur, not a twitch of the wing, not a peep. My compass was
gone, leaving me in the very unsettling position of needing to hold my own
hand.

Of course, I was not completely alone. There was
Deborah beside me, and I became aware that as I was pondering the matter of my
shadow companion's disappearance, she was speaking to me.

“They were at the
funeral this morning,” she said. “Came back and this was waiting for
them.” “Who are they?” I asked, nodding at the house. Deborah
jabbed me in the ribs with her elbow. It hurt. "The family, asshole. The
Ortega family. What did

I just say?“ ”So this happened in
daylight?“ For some reason, that made it seem a little more disturbing.
”Most of the neighbors were at the funeral, too,“ she said. ”But
we're still looking for somebody who

might have seen something.“ She shrugged.
”We might get lucky. Who knows."

I did not know, but for
some reason I did not think that anything connected to this would bring us
luck. “I guess this creates a little doubt about Halpern's guilt,” I said.
“It damned well does not,” she said. “That asshole is
guilty.” “Ah,” I said. “So you think that somebody else
found the heads, and, uh…” “Fucking hell, I don't know,” she
said. “Somebody must be working with him.” I just shook my head. That
didn't make any sense at all, and we both knew it. Somebody capable of

conceiving and performing
the elaborate ritual of the two murders would almost have to do it alone. Such
acts were so highly personal, each small step the acting out of some unique
inner need, that the idea of two people sharing the same vision was almost pure
nonsense. In a weird way, the ceremonial display of the heads fit in with the
way the bodies had been left-two pieces of the same ritual.

“That doesn't seem
right,” I said. “Well then, what does?” I looked at the heads,
perched so carefully atop the lamps. They had of course been burned in the fire
that

had toasted the bodies, and there were no traces of
blood visible. The necks appeared to have been cut very neatly. Other than
that, I had no keen insight into anything at all-and yet there was Deborah,
staring at me expectantly. It's difficult to have a reputation for being able
to see into the still heart of the mystery when all that notoriety rests on the
shadowy guidance of an interior voice that was, at the moment, somewhere else
altogether. I felt like a ventriloquist's dummy, suddenly called upon to
perform the whole act alone.

“Both the heads are
here,” I said, since I clearly had to say something. “Why not at the
other girl's house? The one with the boyfriend?” “Her family lives in
Massachusetts,” Deborah said. “This was easier.” “And you
checked him out, right?” “Who?” “The dead girl's
boyfriend,” I said slowly and carefully. “The guy with the tattoo on
his neck.”

“Jesus Christ, Dexter, of course we're checking
him out. We're checking out everybody who came within half a mile of these
girls in their whole fucking sad little lives, and you-” She took a deep breath,
but it didn't seem to calm her down very much. “Listen, I don't really
need any help with the basic police work, okay? What I need help with is the
weird creepy shit you're supposed to know about.”

It was nice to confirm my identity as the Weird Creepy Shit King, but I
did have to wonder how long it would last without my Dark Crown. Still, with my
reputation on the line I had to venture some kind of insightful opinion, so I
took a small bloodless stab at it.

“All right,” I said. “Then from a weird creepy point of
view, it doesn't make sense to have two different killers with the same ritual.
So either Halpern killed 'em and somebody found the heads and thought, what the
hell, I'll hang 'em up-or else the wrong guy is in jail.”

“Fuck that,” she said.

“Which part?”

“All of it, goddamn it!” she said.
“Neither one of those choices is any better.”

“Well, shit,” I said, surprising us both. And since I felt
cranky beyond endurance with Deborah, and with myself, and with this whole
burned-and-headless thing, I took the only logical, reasonable course. I kicked
a coconut.

Much better. Now my foot hurt, too.

“I'm checking Goldman's background,” she said abruptly,
nodding at the house. “So far, he's just a dentist. Owns an office
building in Davie. But this-it smells like the cocaine cowboys. And that
doesn't make sense, either. Goddamn it, Dexter,” she said. “Give me
something.”

I looked at Deborah with surprise. Somehow she had brought it around so
it was back in my lap again, and I had absolutely nothing beyond a very strong
hope that Goldman would turn out to be a drug lord who was only disguised as a
dentist. “I have come up empty,” I said, which was sad but far too
true.

“Aw, crap,” she said, looking past me to the
edge of the gathering crowd. The first of the news vans had arrived, and even
before the vehicle had come to a full stop the reporter leaped out and began
poking at his cameraman, prodding him into position for a long shot.
“Goddamn it,” Deborah said, and hurried over to deal with them.

“That guy is scary, Dexter,” said a small
voice behind me, and I turned quickly around. Once again, Cody and Astor had
snuck up on me unobserved. They stood together, and Cody inclined his head
toward the small crowd that had gathered on the far side of the crime-scene
tape.

“Which guy is scary?” I said, and Astor said, “There. In
the orange shirt. Don't make me point, he's looking.”

I looked for an orange shirt in the crowd and saw only
a flash of color at the far end of the cul-de-sac as someone ducked into a car.
It was a small blue car, not a white Avalon-but I did notice a familiar dab of
additional color dangling from the rearview mirror as the car moved out onto
the main road. And although it was difficult to be sure, I was relatively
confident that it was a University of Miami faculty parking pass.

I turned back to Astor.
“Well, he's gone now,” I said. “Why did you say he was
scary?” “He says so,” Astor said, pointing to Cody, and Cody
nodded. “He was,” Cody said, barely above a whisper. “He had a
big shadow.” “I'm sorry he scared you,” I said. “But he's
gone now.” Cody nodded. “Can we look at the heads?” Children are
so interesting, aren't they? Here Cody had been frightened by something as
insubstantial as

somebody's shadow, and yet he was as eager as I'd ever
seen him to get a closer look at a concrete example of murder, terror, and
human mortality. Of course I didn't blame him for wanting a peek, but I didn't
think I could openly allow it. On the other hand, I had no idea how to explain
all of this to them, either. I am told that the Turkish language, for example,
has subtleties far beyond what I can imagine, but English was definitely not
adequate for a proper response.

Happily for me, Deborah came
back just then, muttering, “I will never complain about the captain
again.” That seemed highly unlikely, but it did not seem politic to say
so. “He can have those bloodsucking bastards from the press.”

“Maybe you're just not
a people person,” I said. “Those assholes aren't people,” she
said. "All they want is to get some goddamned pictures of their

perfect fucking haircuts
standing in front of the heads, so they can send their tape to the network.
What kind of animal wants to see this?" Actually, I knew the answer to
that one, since I was shepherding two of them at the moment and, truth be

told, might be considered one myself. But it did seem
like I should avoid this question and try to keep our focus on the problem at hand.
So I pondered whatever it was that had made Cody's scary guy seem scary, and
the fact that he'd had what looked very much like a university parking permit.

“I've had a thought,” I said to Deborah, and
the way her head snapped around you might have thought I'd told her she was
standing on a python. “It doesn't really fit with your
dentist-as-drug-lord theory,” I warned her.

“Out with it,” she
said through her teeth. “Somebody was here, and he scared the kids. He
took off in a car with a faculty parking tag.” Deborah stared at me, her
eyes hard and opaque. “Shit,” she said softly. "The guy Halpern
said, what's his

name?“ ”Wilkins,“ I said.
”No,“ she said. ”Can't be. All because the kids say somebody
scared them? No.“ ”He has a motive,“ I said. ”To get tenure,
for Christ's sake? Come on, Dex."

“We don't have to think it's important,” I
said. “They do.”

“So to get
tenure,” she said, shaking her head, “he breaks into Halpern's apartment,
steals his clothes, kills two girls-” “And then steers us to
Halpern,” I said, remembering how he had stood there in the hall and
suggested it. Deborah's head jerked around to face me. “Shit,” she
said. "He did do that, didn't he? Told us to go see

Halpern."

“And however feeble tenure might seem as a
motive,” I said, “it makes more sense than Danny Rollins and Ted
Bundy getting together on a little project, doesn't it?” Deborah smoothed
down the back of her hair, a surprisingly feminine gesture for someone I had
come to

think of as Sergeant Rock. “It might,” she said finally.
“I don't know enough about Wilkins to say for sure.” “Shall we
go talk to him?” She shook her head. “First I want to see Halpern
again,” she said.

“Let me get the kids,” I said. Naturally enough, they were
not anywhere near where they should have been. But I found them easily enough;
they had wandered over to get a better look at the two heads, and it may have
been my imagination, but I thought I could see a small gleam of professional
appreciation in Cody's eyes.

“Come on,” I told them, “we have to get
going.” They turned away and followed me reluctantly, but I did hear Astor
muttering under her breath, “Better than a stupid museum anyway.”

image

From the far edge of the group that had gathered to
see the spectacle he had watched, careful to be just one of the staring crowd,
no different from all the rest of them, and unobserved in any specific way. It
was a risk for the Watcher to be there at all-he could well be recognized, but
he was willing to take the chance. And of course, it was gratifying to see the
reaction to his work; a small vanity but one he allowed himself.

Besides, he was curious to see what they would make of
the one simple clue he had left. The other was clever-but so far he had ignored
it, walking right past and allowing his coworkers to photograph it and examine
it. Perhaps he should have been a little more blatant-but there was time to do
this right. No hurry at all, and the importance of getting the other ready,
taking him when it was all just right-that outweighed everything else.