JК
Darkly dreaming Dexter :: Lindsay Jeffry P.
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“I'm not your slasher, Detective,” I said, throwing myself on her mercy and now completely confident that she had even less than Idid. “But I think he's in there, in one of the storage boxes.”
She licked her lips. “Why do you think that?”
I hesitated, but she kept her unblinking lizard stare on me. As uncomfortable as it made me, I had to tell her one more piece of truth. I nodded at the Allonzo Brothers van parked just inside the fence. “That's his truck.”
“Ha,” she said, and at last she blinked. Her focus left me for a moment and seemed to wander away into some deep place. Her hair? Her makeup? Her career? I couldn't tell. But there were a lot of awkward questions a good detective might have asked here: How did I know that was his truck? How had I found it here? Why was I so sure he hadn't simply dumped the truck and gone somewhere else? But in the final analysis LaGuerta was not a good detective; she simply nodded, licked her lips again, and said, “How are we gonna find him in there in all that?”
Clearly, I really had underestimated her. She had gone from “you” to “we” with no visible transition. “Don't you want to call for backup?” I asked her. “This is a very dangerous man.” I admit I was only needling her. But she took it very seriously.
“If I don't catch this guy by myself, in two weeks I'm a meter maid,” she said. “I got my weapon. Nobody's gonna get away from me. I'll call for backup when I have him.” She studied me without blinking. “And if he's not in there, I'll give them you.”
It seemed like a good idea to let that go. “Can you get us through the gate?”
She laughed. “'Course I can. I got my badge, get us through anywhere. And then what?”
This was the tricky part. If she went for this, I might well be home free. “Then we split up and search until we find him.”
She studied me. Again I saw in her face the thing I had seen when she first got out of her car-the look of a predator weighing her prey, wondering when and where to strike, and how many claws to use. It was horrible-I actually found myself warming to the woman. “Okay,” she said at last, and tilted her head toward her car. “Get in.”
I got in. She drove us back out onto the road and over to the gate. Even at this hour there was some traffic. Most of it seemed to be people from Ohio looking for their cruise ship, but a few of them wound up at the gate, where the guards sent them back the way they came. Detective LaGuerta cut ahead of them all, bulling her big Chevy to the front of the line. Their Midwest driving skills were no match for a Miami Cuban woman with good medical insurance driving a car she didn't care about.
“I'm not your slasher, Detective,” I said, throwing myself on her mercy and now completely confident that she had even less than Idid. “But I think he's in there, in one of the storage boxes.”
She licked her lips. “Why do you think that?”
I hesitated, but she kept her unblinking lizard stare on me. As uncomfortable as it made me, I had to tell her one more piece of truth. I nodded at the Allonzo Brothers van parked just inside the fence. “That's his truck.”
“Ha,” she said, and at last she blinked. Her focus left me for a moment and seemed to wander away into some deep place. Her hair? Her makeup? Her career? I couldn't tell. But there were a lot of awkward questions a good detective might have asked here: How did I know that was his truck? How had I found it here? Why was I so sure he hadn't simply dumped the truck and gone somewhere else? But in the final analysis LaGuerta was not a good detective; she simply nodded, licked her lips again, and said, “How are we gonna find him in there in all that?”
Clearly, I really had underestimated her. She had gone from “you” to “we” with no visible transition. “Don't you want to call for backup?” I asked her. “This is a very dangerous man.” I admit I was only needling her. But she took it very seriously.
“If I don't catch this guy by myself, in two weeks I'm a meter maid,” she said. “I got my weapon. Nobody's gonna get away from me. I'll call for backup when I have him.” She studied me without blinking. “And if he's not in there, I'll give them you.”
It seemed like a good idea to let that go. “Can you get us through the gate?”
She laughed. “'Course I can. I got my badge, get us through anywhere. And then what?”
This was the tricky part. If she went for this, I might well be home free. “Then we split up and search until we find him.”
She studied me. Again I saw in her face the thing I had seen when she first got out of her car-the look of a predator weighing her prey, wondering when and where to strike, and how many claws to use. It was horrible-I actually found myself warming to the woman. “Okay,” she said at last, and tilted her head toward her car. “Get in.”
I got in. She drove us back out onto the road and over to the gate. Even at this hour there was some traffic. Most of it seemed to be people from Ohio looking for their cruise ship, but a few of them wound up at the gate, where the guards sent them back the way they came. Detective LaGuerta cut ahead of them all, bulling her big Chevy to the front of the line. Their Midwest driving skills were no match for a Miami Cuban woman with good medical insurance driving a car she didn't care about.