Captain Matthews was, indeed, waiting for me. So were a few other people, most of whom I recognized, and none of whom were particularly good news. There was Israel Salguero, who was head of Internal Affairs; he was bad news all by himself. But he was also joined by Irene Cappuccio whom I knew only by sight and reputation. She was the senior lawyer for the department, and rarely called in unless somebody had filed a credible and substantial law suit against us. Sitting beside her was another department lawyer, Ed Beasley.

Across the table was Lieutenant Stein, Information Officer, who specialized in spinning things to keep the whole force from looking like a rampaging gang of visigoths. Altogether, this was not a group calculated to make Dexter sink into a chair wrapped in a soft cloud of tranquility.

There was a stranger sitting in one of the chairs by Matthews, and it was clear from the cut of his apparently expensive suit that he was not a cop. He was black, with a look of important condescension on his face and a shaved head that gleamed so brightly I was sure he used furniture polish, and as I watched he twitched his arm so that the sleeve rolled up to reveal a large diamond cufflink and a beautiful Rolex watch.

“Morgan” Matthews said, as I hovered in the doorway fighting down a sense of panic. “How is she?”

“Too soon to tell,” I said.

He nodded. “Well, I'm sure we all, ah, hope for the best here” he said. “She's a fine officer, and her dad was, uh —your dad, too, of course.” He cleared his throat and went on. “The, uh, doctors at Jackson are the best, and I want you to know that if there's anything the department can do, um ...” The man beside him glanced up at Matthews, and then at me, and Matthews nodded. “Sit down” he said.

I hooked a chair back away from the table and sat, with no idea what was going on, but an absolute certainty that I wouldn't like it.

Captain Matthews confirmed my opinion right away. “This is an informal conversation” he said. “Just to, ah, ahem.” The stranger turned his large and brittle eyes on the captain with a somewhat withering expression, and then looked back at me. I represent Alex Doncevic” he said.

The name meant absolutely nothing to me, but he said it with such smooth conviction I was sure it ought to, so I just nodded and said, “Oh, all right.”

“In the first place” he said, I am demanding his immediate release. And in the second ...” He paused here, apparently for dramatic effect and to let his righteous anger build up and spill out into the room. “In the second place” he said, as if he was addressing a crowd in a large hall, “we are considering a lawsuit for punitive damages.”

I blinked. They were all looking at me, and I was clearly an important part of something a little bit dire, but I really had no idea what it might be. “I'm sorry to hear that” I said.