Dearly Devoted Dexter (Dexter, #2)

by Jeff Lindsay

I opened my eyes and looked up to see Deborah stagger forward a step and then sit down hard on her front walk. I got out of the car and hurried over to her. “Deb?” I said. “What is it?” She dropped the package and hid her face in her hands, making more unlikely noises. I squatted beside her and picked up the package. It was a small box, about the right size to hold a wristwatch. I pried the end up. Inside was a ziplock bag. And inside the bag was a human finger. A finger with a big, flashy pinkie ring.

CHAPTER 16

“You're staying at my place for a few days,” I said.

“Deborah. He knows who you are and where you are. Let's try to make it just a little bit of a challenge for him, all right?”

I left her a note to call me when she woke up, and then I took her little surprise package with me and headed in to work.

It took more than half an hour, but by the time Vince left for lunch we had learned that there was nothing to learn from Kyle's finger. The cut was extremely clean and professional, done with a very sharp instrument that left no trace behind in the wound. There was nothing under the fingernail except a little dirt that could have come from anywhere. I removed the ring, but we found no threads or hairs or telltale fabric swatches, and Kyle had somehow failed to etch an address or phone number onto the inside of the ring. Kyle's blood type was AB positive.

I dashed in through the rain and found Deborah gone. She had scribbled a note on a Post-it saying she would call later.

“Well,” she said. “What a surprise!” She lifted her face for a kiss. I gave her one, putting a little extra English on it to entertain Sergeant Doakes. “There's no easy way to say this,” I said, “but I've come for my running shoes.”

Rita lifted up her hand in front of her. Her left hand. Now with a large diamond ring sparkling on her ring finger. Chutsky's ring. “Oh, Dexter,” she said again, and then buried her face in my shoulder. “Yes yes YES! Oh, you've made me so happy!” “All right,” Cody said softly. And after that, what can you say except congratulations?

And once again I found myself wondering, as I drifted off to stunned and unbelieving sleep: How do these terrible things always happen to me?

Surely Rita would come to her senses. I mean, really: ME? Who could possibly want to marry ME?! There had to be better alternatives, like becoming a nun, or joining the Peace Corps. This was Dexter we were talking about. In a city the size of Miami, couldn't she find somebody who was at least human?

CHAPTER 17

“Sergeant, um, Morgan. Right? This is Dan Burdett, from uh— Kyle Chutsky said I should call you. I'm on the ground at the airport, and I'll call you about getting together when I get to my hotel, which is—” There was a rustling sound and he obviously moved the cell phone away from his mouth, since his voice got fainter. “What? Oh, hey, that's nice. All right, thanks.” His voice got louder again. “I just met your driver. Thanks for sending somebody. All right, I'll call from the hotel.”

didn't send anybody to the fucking airport,” she said. “And Captain Matthews damn sure didn't either. Did you send somebody to the fucking airport, Dexter?”

Angel-no-relation and I drove over to where a body had been found in the shell of a small house on a canal that was being ripped apart and rebuilt.

It was laid out on heavy plastic on top of a sheet of plywood which had been placed over two sawhorses. Someone had taken a power saw and neatly lopped off the head, legs, and arms. The whole thing had been left like that, with the trunk in the middle and the pieces simply trimmed off and moved a few inches away.

“The wallet was right there by the body,” Officer Snyder was saying. “Got a Virginia driver's license in the name of Daniel Chester Burdett.”

“Sonamabeech,” I heard someone mutter. I looked back to where Angel-no-relation was squatting on the far side of the body. Once again he was using his tweezers to hold up a small piece of paper. I stepped behind him and looked over his shoulder.

In a clear and spidery hand, someone had written “POGUE,” and crossed it out with a single line. “Whassa pogue?” Angel asked. “His name?” “It's somebody who sits behind a desk and orders around the real troops,” I told him.

“Burdett is a federal agent,” I said. “You have to call Captain Matthews right away and tell him.”

“Deborah,” I said as she stalked over to where I stood by the window, “the cavalry isn't coming this time.” “No shit, Sherlock,” she said. “We are all there is, and we are not enough.”

“Deborah,” I said, “if we want to find Kyle, we need to know more about this. We need to know the names on Kyle's list and we need to know what kind of team it was and why all this is happening. And Doakes is the only one I can think of who knows any of it.” “Doakes wants you dead,” she said. “No working situation is ever ideal,” I said with my best smile of cheerful perseverance. “And I think he wants this to go away as badly as Kyle does.”

He glanced at the body and then at Doakes. “Can you do it, Sergeant?” “They're not going to like it in Washington,” Doakes said. “And I don't much like it here.” “I'm beginning to lose interest in what they like in Washington,” Matthews said. “We have our own problems. Can you handle this?” Doakes looked at me. I tried to look serious and dedicated, but he just shook his head. “Yeah,” he said. “I can do this.” Matthews clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man,” he said, and he hurried away to talk to the news crew. Doakes was still looking at me. I looked back. “Think how much easier it's going to be to keep track of me,” I said. “When this is over,” he said. “Just you and me.” “But not until it's over,” I said, and he finally nodded, just once. “Until then,” he said.

CHAPTER 18

“We need the names of everybody from El Salvador,” she blurted out. Doakes just looked at her and sipped his coffee. “Be a big list,” he said. Deborah frowned. “You know what I mean,” she said. “Goddamn it, Doakes, he's got Kyle.” Doakes showed his teeth. “Yeah, Kyle getting old. Never would have got him in his prime.” “What exactly were you doing down there?” I asked him. I know it was a bit off message, but my curiosity about how he would answer got the best of me. Still smiling, if that's what it was, Doakes looked at me and said, “What do you think?”

Doakes picked up one of the pastelitos and leaned back. “Why don't you-all bring me up to date,” he said. He took a bite, and Deborah tapped a finger on the table before deciding that made sense. “All right,” she said. “We got a rough description of the guy who's doing this, and his van. A white van.” Doakes shook his head. “Don't matter. We know who's doing this.” “We also got an ID on the first victim,” I said. “A man named Manuel Borges.” “Well, well,” Doakes said. “Old Manny, huh? Really should've let me shoot him.” “A friend of yours?” I asked, but Doakes ignored me. “What else you got?” he said. “Kyle had a list of names,” Deborah said. “Other men from the same unit. He said one of them would be the next victim. But he didn't tell me the names.”

“If I was a hotshot like Kyle, I'd pick one of these guys and stake him out.” Deborah pursed her lips and nodded. “Problem is, I am not a hotshot like Kyle. Just a simple cop from the country.”

“I only know about one guy from the old team here in Miami,” he said, after a quick and savage glance at me. “Oscar Acosta. Saw him at Publix two years ago. We could run him down.” He pointed his chin at Deborah. “Two other names I can think of. You look 'em up, see if they're here.” He spread his hands. “About all I got. I could maybe call some old buddies in Virginia, but no telling what that might stir up.” He snorted. “Anyway, take them two days to decide what I was really asking and what they ought to do about it.”

“He remembered me. I can talk to him. You try to watch him, he'll know it and probably disappear.” He looked at his watch. “Quarter of three. Oscar be home in a couple of hours. You-all wait for my call.”

“Come on. I'll take you back to work. Then you can go wait with your fiancée,” she said.

“Stick with your fiancée after work. I'll call you when I hear from Doakes.”

“Doakes just called,” Deborah said to me without even saying hello. “The guy he went to talk to is running. Doakes is following to see where he goes, but he needs us for backup.”

CHAPTER 19

There was a short pause, and then Doakes said, “He's pulled over by the drawbridge at the Venetian Causeway. Cover it on your side.”

“I'm not very good at feeling things, Debs,” I said. “And I really don't know at all about this marriage thing. But I don't much like it when you're unhappy.”

She picked up the radio. “Doakes. What's he doing?” After a brief pause, Doakes replied, “Looks like he's talking on a cell phone.”

“What if— Now I did say this was stupid.” “It's a lot stupider to dick around like this,” she snapped. “What's the idea?” “What if Oscar is calling the good Doctor and trying to bargain his way out?” I said. And I was right; it did sound stupid. Debs snorted. “Bargain with what?” “Well,” I said, “Doakes said he's carrying a bag. So he could have money, bearer bonds, a stamp collection. I don't know. But he probably has something that might be even more valuable to our surgical friend.” “Like what?” “He probably knows where everybody else from the old team is hiding.”

“One spook can always find a way to get to another. There are lists and databases and mutual contacts, you know that. Didn't you see Bourne Identity?” “Yeah, but how do we know Oscar saw it?” she said.

“So whatever side Danco is on, Oscar could find a way to reach him.” “So fucking what. We can't,” she said.

I mean, seriously, don't people ever see themselves, staggering around drooling and mooning, all weepy-eyed and weak-kneed and rendered completely idiotic over something even animals have enough sense to finish quickly so they can get on with more sensible pursuits, like finding fresh meat?

The radio crackled. “He's moving,” Doakes said. “Gonna run the drawbridge. Watch for him—white Toyota 4Runner.” “I see him,” Deborah said into the radio. “We're on him.”

“He's headed north on Biscayne,” she said into the radio. “Copy that,” Doakes said. “I'll follow out here.”

A few blocks later, Oscar suddenly accelerated into the left lane and turned left across oncoming traffic, raising an entire concerto of angry horns from drivers moving in both directions. “He's making a move,” Deborah told Doakes, “west on 135th Street.” “I'm crossing behind you,” Doakes said. “On the Broad Causeway.”

“Shit,” she said, and picked up the radio. “Doakes—Opa-Locka Airport is out this way.”

Opa-Locka Airport had long been popular with people in the drug trade, as well as with those in covert operations.

“Goddamn it, something spooked him,” Deborah said. “He must have spotted us.”

It was a battered white van. And it was following us, and following Oscar. Matching our speed, moving in and out of traffic. “Well,” I said, “not stupid after all.” And I raised my voice to go over the squeal of tires and the horns of the other motorists. “Oh, Deborah?” I said. “I don't want to distract you from your driving chores, but if you have a moment, could you look in your rearview mirror?”

“Sergeant Doakes,” I said. “We are not alone.” The radio hissed once. “The fuck does that mean?” Doakes said, almost as if he had heard Deborah's response and admired it so much he had to repeat it. “We have just turned right on 6th Avenue, and we are being followed by a white van.” There was no answer, so I said again, “Did I mention that the van is white?” and this time I had the great satisfaction of hearing Doakes grunt, “Motherfucker.”

I was still stunned as the car flipped onto its roof, hit the pond, and began to fill with water.

CHAPTER 20