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Darkly dreaming Dexter :: Lindsay Jeffry P.
Страница: 39 из 160”
“Well, change the channel. What do you know about cell crystallization?”
I blinked. “Wow,” I said. “You just blew away all the competition in the Subject Changing Tournament.”
“I'm serious,” she said.
“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 passed it last night.”
“I heard you didn't actually pass 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 embarrassed.
“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.
“Shit,” she said at last. “That's it? Cold slows the blood, and that's vital? Come on. What the hell good is that, Dexter?”
“I don't do ‘good' before coffee, Deborah,” I said with a heroic effort at recovery. “Just accurate.”
“Shit,” she said again. Rose brought our coffee. Deborah sipped. “Last night I got an invite to the seventy-two-hour briefing,” she said.
“Well, change the channel. What do you know about cell crystallization?”
I blinked. “Wow,” I said. “You just blew away all the competition in the Subject Changing Tournament.”
“I'm serious,” she said.
“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 passed it last night.”
“I heard you didn't actually pass 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 embarrassed.
“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.
“Shit,” she said at last. “That's it? Cold slows the blood, and that's vital? Come on. What the hell good is that, Dexter?”
“I don't do ‘good' before coffee, Deborah,” I said with a heroic effort at recovery. “Just accurate.”
“Shit,” she said again. Rose brought our coffee. Deborah sipped. “Last night I got an invite to the seventy-two-hour briefing,” she said.