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Darkly dreaming Dexter :: Lindsay Jeffry P.
Страница: 60 из 160It was added on for some other purpose, and that purpose had to be a new and different kind of statement. I could feel the electricity of the thought surging through me. If it was from that truck, it could only be meant for me.
But what did it mean?
“What the hell is that about?” Deb said beside me. “A mirror. Why?”
“I don't know,” I said, still feeling its power throb through me. “But I will bet you dinner at Joe's Stone Crabs that it came from the refrigerator truck.”
“No bet,” she said. “But at least it settles one important question.”
I looked at her, startled. Could she really have made some intuitive jump that I had missed? “What question, sis?”
She nodded at the cluster of management-level cops still squabbling at the edges of the rink. “Jurisdiction. This one is ours. Come on.”
On the surface, Detective LaGuerta was not impressed with this new piece of evidence. Perhaps she was hiding a deep and abiding concern for the symbolism of the mirror and all it implied under a carefully crafted façade of indifference. Either that or she really was dumb as a box of rocks. She was still standing with Doakes. To his credit, he looked troubled, but maybe his face had simply gotten tired from its perpetual mean glare and he was trying something new.
“Morgan,” LaGuerta said to Deb, “I didn't recognize you with clothes on.”
“I guess it's possible to miss a lot of obvious things, Detective,” Deb said before I could stop her.
“It is,” LaGuerta said. “That's why some of us never make detective.” It was a complete and effortless victory, and LaGuerta didn't even wait to see the shot go home. She turned away from Deb and spoke to Doakes. “Find out who has keys to the arena. Who could get in here whenever they wanted.”
“Uh-huh,” said Doakes. “Check all the locks, see if somebody busted in?”
“No,” LaGuerta told him with a pretty little frown. “We got our ice connection now.” She glanced at Deborah. “That refrigerated truck is just to confuse us.” Back to Doakes. “The tissue damage had to come from the ice, from here. So the killer is connected to the ice in this place.” She looked one last time at Deborah. “Not the truck.”
“Uh-huh,” said Doakes. He didn't sound convinced, but he wasn't in charge.
LaGuerta looked over at me. “I think you can go home, Dexter,” she said. “I know where you live when I need you.” At least she didn't wink.
Deborah walked me to the big double doors of the arena.
But what did it mean?
“What the hell is that about?” Deb said beside me. “A mirror. Why?”
“I don't know,” I said, still feeling its power throb through me. “But I will bet you dinner at Joe's Stone Crabs that it came from the refrigerator truck.”
“No bet,” she said. “But at least it settles one important question.”
I looked at her, startled. Could she really have made some intuitive jump that I had missed? “What question, sis?”
She nodded at the cluster of management-level cops still squabbling at the edges of the rink. “Jurisdiction. This one is ours. Come on.”
On the surface, Detective LaGuerta was not impressed with this new piece of evidence. Perhaps she was hiding a deep and abiding concern for the symbolism of the mirror and all it implied under a carefully crafted façade of indifference. Either that or she really was dumb as a box of rocks. She was still standing with Doakes. To his credit, he looked troubled, but maybe his face had simply gotten tired from its perpetual mean glare and he was trying something new.
“Morgan,” LaGuerta said to Deb, “I didn't recognize you with clothes on.”
“I guess it's possible to miss a lot of obvious things, Detective,” Deb said before I could stop her.
“It is,” LaGuerta said. “That's why some of us never make detective.” It was a complete and effortless victory, and LaGuerta didn't even wait to see the shot go home. She turned away from Deb and spoke to Doakes. “Find out who has keys to the arena. Who could get in here whenever they wanted.”
“Uh-huh,” said Doakes. “Check all the locks, see if somebody busted in?”
“No,” LaGuerta told him with a pretty little frown. “We got our ice connection now.” She glanced at Deborah. “That refrigerated truck is just to confuse us.” Back to Doakes. “The tissue damage had to come from the ice, from here. So the killer is connected to the ice in this place.” She looked one last time at Deborah. “Not the truck.”
“Uh-huh,” said Doakes. He didn't sound convinced, but he wasn't in charge.
LaGuerta looked over at me. “I think you can go home, Dexter,” she said. “I know where you live when I need you.” At least she didn't wink.
Deborah walked me to the big double doors of the arena.