“Never,” I agreed. “Solamente para pillar este asesino.” Only to catch this killer.

She nodded as if that made sense, that I needed her address to find the killer, and gave me her shy smile again. “Gracias,” she said. “Te creo.” I believe you. Her faith in me was really quite touching, especially considering there was no reason for it, beyond the fact that I had given her a completely phony smile. It made me wonder if a career change was in order —perhaps I should sell cars, or even run for president.

“All right,” Deborah said. “She can go home.” I nodded at Arabelle. “Vaya a casa,” I said.

“Gracias,” she said again. And she smiled hugely and then turned and almost ran for the street.

“Shit,” Deborah said. “Shit shit shit.” I looked at her with raised eyebrows, and she shook her head.

She seemed deflated, the anger and tension drained out of her. I know it's stupid,” she said. I just hoped she might have seen something. I mean ...” She shrugged and turned away, looking in the direction of the body in the doorway. “We'll never find the gay tourists, either. Not in South Beach,” she said.

“They can't have seen anything anyway,” I said.

“In broad daylight. And nobody saw anything?”

“People see what they expect to see,” I said. “He probably used a delivery van, and that would make him invisible.”

“Well, shit,” she said again, and it didn't seem like a good time to criticize her for such a limited vocabulary. She faced me again. I don't suppose you got anything helpful from looking at this one?”

“Let me take some pictures and think about it,” I said.

“That's a no, right?”

“It's not a stated no,” I said. “It's an implied no.” Deborah held up a middle finger. “Imply this,” she said, and turned away to look at the body again.

Sin determinar

SEVEN

IT IS SURPRISING, BUT TRUE: COLD COQ AU VIN REALLY doesn't taste as good as it should. Somehow the wine gives off an odor of stale beer, and the chicken feels slightly slimy, and the whole experience becomes an ordeal of grim perseverance in the face of bitterly disappointed expectations. Still, Dexter is nothing if not persistent, and when I got home around midnight I worked through a large portion of the stuff with truly stoic fortitude.

Rita did not wake up when I slipped into bed, and I did not dawdle over long on the shores of sleep. I closed my eyes, and it seemed like almost immediately the clock radio beside the bed began to scream at me about the rising tide of dreadful violence threatening to overwhelm our poor battered city.

I pried open an eye and saw that it really was six o'clock and time to get up. It didn't seem fair, but I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower, and by the time I reached the kitchen Rita had breakfast on the table. I see you had some of the chicken,” she said, a little grimly, I thought, and I realized a little blarney was called for.