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Chapters (41)
  1. Dexter in the Darkby Jeff Lindsay
  2. IN THE BEGINNING
  3. ONE
  4. TWO
  5. THREE
  6. FOUR
  7. FIVE
  8. SIX
  9. SEVEN
  10. EIGHT
  11. NINE
  12. TEN
  13. ELEVEN
  14. TWELVE
  15. THIRTEEN
  16. FOURTEEN
  17. FIFTEEN
  18. SIXTEEN
  19. SEVENTEEN
  20. EIGHTEEN
  21. NINETEEN
  22. TWENTY
  23. TWENTY-ONE
  24. TWENTY-TWO
  25. TWENTY-THREE
  26. TWENTY-FOUR
  27. TWENTY-FIVE
  28. TWENTY-SIX
  29. TWENTY-SEVEN
  30. TWENTY-EIGHT
  31. TWENTY-NINE
  32. THIRTY
  33. THIRTY-ONE
  34. THIRTY-TWO
  35. THIRTY-THREE
  36. THIRTY-FOUR
  37. THIRTY-FIVE
  38. THIRTY-SIX
  39. THIRTY-SEVEN
  40. THIRTY-EIGHT
  41. THIRTY-NINE

He seemed to be only warming up, and while I really admired the fact that he had such terrific stamina at his age, I felt it was time to turn him over to the proper authorities as constituted by my sister, which lit up in me a small glow of satisfaction, since it not only gave her a suspect better than poor Disenfranchised Dexter but also inflicted this beguiling old poop on her as a small measure of punishment for suspecting me in the first place. "Come with me," I said to the old man.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said.

"Wouldn't you like to talk to a real detective?" I said, and the hours of practice I had spent on my smile must have paid off, because he frowned, looked around him, and then said, "Well, all right," and followed me all the way back to where Sergeant Sister was snarling at Camilla Figg.

"I told you to stay away," she said, with all the warmth and charm I had come to expect from her. "Okay," I said. "Shall I take the witness away with me?"

Deborah opened her mouth, then closed and opened it a few more times, as if she was trying to figure out how to breathe like a fish. "You can't-it isn't-Goddamn it, Dexter," she said at last. "I can, it is, and I'm sure he will," I said. "But in the meantime, this nice old gentleman has something interesting to tell you."

"Who the hell are you to call me old?" he said.
"This is Detective Morgan," I told him. "She's in charge here."
"A girl?" he snorted. "No wonder they can't catch anybody. A girl detective."
"Be sure to tell her about the backpack," I told him. "And the tattoo."
"What tattoo?" she demanded. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"The mouth on you," the old man said. "Shame!"
I smiled at my sister. "Have a nice chat," I said.

TWENTY-SIX

I COULD NOT BE SURE THAT I WAS OFFICIALLY INVITED BACK to the party, but I didn't want to go so far away that I missed the chance to graciously accept my sister's apology. So I went to loiter just inside the front door of the former Manny Borque's apartment, where I could be noticed at the appropriate time. Unfortunately, the killer had not stolen the giant artistic ball of animal vomit on the pedestal by the door. It was still there, right in the middle of my loitering grounds, and I was forced to look at it while I waited.