JК
Darkly dreaming Dexter :: Lindsay Jeffry P.
Страница: 134 из 160He wore a shirt that could have been white, or tan, or yellow, or even light blue. The parking lot light that shone on him was one of the bright Argon anticrime lights and it cast a pinkish-orange glow; between that and the lack of resolution in the picture it was impossible to tell any more. His pants were long, loosely cut, light-colored. Altogether a standard outfit that anyone might have worn-including me. I had clothing just like it several times over, enough to outfit an entire platoon of Dexter lookalikes.
I did manage to zoom in on the side of the truck enough to make out the letter “A” and, below it, a “B,” followed by an “R” and either a “C” or an “O.” But the truck was angled away from the camera and that was all I could see.
None of the other pictures offered me any hints. I watched the sequence again: the man vanished, reappeared, and then the van was gone. No good angles, no fortuitous accidental glimpses of his license plate-and no reason to say with any authority that either it was or was not deftly dreaming Dexter.
When I finally looked up from the computer night had come and it was dark outside. And I did what a normal person almost certainly would have done several hours ago: I quit. There was nothing else I could do except wait for Deborah. I would have to let my poor tormented sister haul me away to jail. After all, one way or another I was guilty. I really should be locked up. Perhaps I could even share a cell with McHale. He could teach me the rat dance.
And with that thought I did a truly wonderful thing.
I fell asleep.
CHAPTER 24
I HAD NO DREAMS, NO SENSE OF TRAVELING OUTSIDE my body; I saw no parade of ghostly images or headless, bloodless bodies. No visions of sugarplums danced in my head. There was nothing there, not even me, nothing but a dark and timeless sleep. And yet when the telephone woke me up I knew that the call was about Deborah, and I knew that she was not coming. My hand was already sweating as I grabbed up the receiver. “Yes,” I said.
“This is Captain Matthews,” the voice said. “I need to speak to Detective Morgan, please.”
“She isn't here,” I said, a small part of me sinking from the thought and what it meant.
“Hmmp. Aahh, well, that's not- When did she leave?”
I glanced at the clock instinctively; it was a quarter after nine and I fell deeper into the sweats. “She was never here,” I told the captain.
“But she's signed out to your place. She's on duty-she's supposed to be there.”
“She never got here.”
“Well goddamn it,” he said.
I did manage to zoom in on the side of the truck enough to make out the letter “A” and, below it, a “B,” followed by an “R” and either a “C” or an “O.” But the truck was angled away from the camera and that was all I could see.
None of the other pictures offered me any hints. I watched the sequence again: the man vanished, reappeared, and then the van was gone. No good angles, no fortuitous accidental glimpses of his license plate-and no reason to say with any authority that either it was or was not deftly dreaming Dexter.
When I finally looked up from the computer night had come and it was dark outside. And I did what a normal person almost certainly would have done several hours ago: I quit. There was nothing else I could do except wait for Deborah. I would have to let my poor tormented sister haul me away to jail. After all, one way or another I was guilty. I really should be locked up. Perhaps I could even share a cell with McHale. He could teach me the rat dance.
And with that thought I did a truly wonderful thing.
I fell asleep.
CHAPTER 24
I HAD NO DREAMS, NO SENSE OF TRAVELING OUTSIDE my body; I saw no parade of ghostly images or headless, bloodless bodies. No visions of sugarplums danced in my head. There was nothing there, not even me, nothing but a dark and timeless sleep. And yet when the telephone woke me up I knew that the call was about Deborah, and I knew that she was not coming. My hand was already sweating as I grabbed up the receiver. “Yes,” I said.
“This is Captain Matthews,” the voice said. “I need to speak to Detective Morgan, please.”
“She isn't here,” I said, a small part of me sinking from the thought and what it meant.
“Hmmp. Aahh, well, that's not- When did she leave?”
I glanced at the clock instinctively; it was a quarter after nine and I fell deeper into the sweats. “She was never here,” I told the captain.
“But she's signed out to your place. She's on duty-she's supposed to be there.”
“She never got here.”
“Well goddamn it,” he said.